


nine2five season 1

by AuthorGuy



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 12:18:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 74,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17939573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorGuy/pseuds/AuthorGuy
Summary: A revision of canon S3, making it more like S2. Chuck and Sarah are together from the start, Chuck is out of the Buy More, and he does not want to be a spy. I treat this story like a TV season, with individual episodes of 4 chapters each. The first few episodes are bckstory and setup, with new character introductions and such, but then the episodes will be modeled on canon, modified only to account for the changes I have made. Where S3 was 19 episodes long, this story will be 21.





	1. When Ellie Found out

Eleanor Faye Bartowski–with a Woodcombe on top!–fidgeted in her seat, anxiously waiting for the plane to land. Two weeks of sun, Devon, surf, Devon, clean fresh sheets, Devon, and fabulous meals she didn’t have to make herself, with a side order of Devon, ought to have been idyllic enough for any honeymoon, but with each passing day her anxiety grew.  
Chuck hadn’t called. Not once.  
It’s my honeymoon, of course Chuck isn’t going to call.  
Something was wrong. Since when had something like that ever stopped him?  
“I’m sure he’s fine, El,” said Devon, but his warm loving baritone had said the same thing for the last few days and the comfort quotient had gotten a little low lately.  
“I know he is, honey,” she said. “Intellectually, scientifically, I know he has to be fine. He’s there, Sarah’s there, and if they really did disappear from our reception for the reason you think, they’re probably still all right.” She gripped his arm tightly.  
“Ouch.”  
“But they’ve disappeared together before, Devon, and those times they weren’t all right, and that’s the thing that’s bothering the non-intellectual, non-scientific, freaking out substitute mother-figure that you also married.”  
Devon took the pain, raised his free hand to her cheek. “Better or worse, babe, better or worse. And if that’s the worst you can do, I’m a lucky man.” Ellie smiled and leaned into his touch. She wanted, needed comfort, and he was so good at it. “You’ll see. We get on the ground, spend three hours waiting for our bags, another hour to get through the security, and he’ll be right there.”  
Ellie relaxed her grip. Every second was bringing them closer. Closer to their friends, their lives. Not his life, not hers. Theirs. He was her husband now, he should be the center of her life, and he was, but the substitute mother-figure inside her wasn’t ready to give up yet.   
Tough on her. Any new husband could be forgiven a little jealousy, but hers was nothing but supportive, in every way. He deserved better. He was right, of course he was right.  
***   
He was wrong. They made it as far as the debarkation lounge before things started to go sideways from his confident predictions.  
A man in a black suit and sunglasses came up to them, a photo in his hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Woodcombe?”  
At their nod he put the photo away, and took off his glasses. “My name is Mr. Clark. I’ve been assigned to escort you home. If you’ll follow me, please?”  
Devon smiled. “Chuck sent a driver? Outstanding.”  
Ellie wasn’t so sure. Why would a limo driver be waiting for them on this side of the gate? She followed, her husband’s confidence and Mr. Clark’s complete self-assurance pulling her along in their wake. To her surprise and a lot of people’s annoyance they bypassed the line completely.  
Mr. Clark showed something to the guard, probably a badge, and they were passed right through without question. Everybody on the line wondered what they’d done, and Ellie kept her head down as some of them tried to get pictures, just in case somebody would pay money for them. Another man in black stepped up behind the departing couple, though, so no one saw their faces.  
Ellie looked back at the unsmiling man bringing up their rear. “And who are you?”  
“His name is Smith, but please don’t talk to him, Mrs. Woodcombe,” said Mr. Clark. “He won’t answer, but it might distract him at the wrong moment.”  
This was already the wrong moment. Ellie watched the luggage carousels as they went past without stopping. “Are we being arrested?” Devon took her hand.  
“No, Mrs. Woodcombe. My apologies if I’ve given you any cause for alarm. Mr. Smith and I are here to escort you to your briefing. After today, I doubt you’ll ever see us again.”  
Some kind of emergency? Why would the hospital need them? “What briefing?”  
“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am.”  
Devon waved back into the terminal they were just leaving. “What about our bags?”  
Mr. Clark opened a door of a vehicle that in no way resembled a limo, and a third man got out. He spoke to Devon, though. “Give your tickets to Mr. Jones here. He’ll collect your bags and follow after us.”  
Ellie was not about to get in that car with a bunch of guys in suits. “I want to see some ID.”  
Mr. Clark and Mr. Jones immediately pulled out their wallets, and showed her their credentials. Mr. Jones went around behind them as Mr. Smith came forward to show his.   
“NSA?” asked Ellie. “What does the government want with us?”  
“Not within our purview, ma’am,” said Mr. Clark, putting his wallet away. “Best if we don’t know. Mr. Jones?” When Mr. Jones stepped forward, Mr. Clark looked back at Devon. “Tickets?”  
If they really were NSA, arguing with them could only a not-bad situation bad, and a bad situation worse. If they weren’t NSA, it was already worse. In any case handing over the tickets seemed like the most prudent course.  
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Clark. “Your bags will be waiting for you, when we’re done. If you’ll step inside we’ll be on our way.”  
Ellie watched his eyes. He wasn’t so anxious to get them in the car so much as he was to get them off the sidewalk. Hard to say if that was simply native paranoia or something more. “This is important, isn’t it?”  
“My immediate superior is an Air Force General, ma’am, and she wishes to speak with you two about matters of national security. That’s all I can say.”  
***  
The NSA drove them home. Not what they expected.  
The courtyard boasted a few more men in black, but at this time of day no one was around to notice. With their irregular schedule at the hospital, Ellie was quite aware of how quiet the place could be.   
Wouldn’t it have been easier to do this in a hotel room? Airports have meeting rooms, don’t they, so people can get together and meet without having to go anywhere else. Why not use one of those? If the idea was to get them in familiar surroundings, make them calm, it wasn’t working. All she saw was how easily her familiar surroundings could become unfamiliar. Mr. Clark opened the door to their own home as if he…  
What about Chuck? He knew they were coming back today, he wouldn’t be at the Buy More, would he? Didn’t he quit? Was he at the airport, waiting for them after they’d already left? Was he here, surrounded by unsmiling men who wouldn’t answer any of his inevitable questions?  
She pushed ahead, frantic about her brother. “Chuck!” She ran to his bedroom.  
It was empty. His bed, his clothes, his computer, all gone. Even the Tron poster she so wished he’d get rid of. The wall looked so empty without it. “Chuck?”  
“He’s not here, Mrs. Woodcombe,” said someone from behind her, someone female.  
Ellie backed up, and turned around.  
A woman was sitting in a chair, not looking comfortable. Perhaps the rather garish ‘Welcome Back!’ sign over her head had something to do with it, she certainly didn’t look very welcoming. Devon sat on the couch, also not looking comfortable. Mr. Clark stood in front of the door, looking quite at ease.   
“Where’s my brother?”  
The tiny woman said, “Chuck was relocated to Washington DC slightly more than a week ago, Mrs. Woodcombe. Or may I call you Eleanor? Please, sit.”  
She sank down to sit next to Devon, taking his hand. “How do you know our names? Why is Chuck in DC? What are all of you doing in our house?”  
“Well, as to the last,” said the woman, breaking into what threatened to be a long stream of questions with some skill, “I am here because your brother asked me to be here. Insisted, actually. I’m very glad to see that your greatest mutual concerns are for each other, that makes this much easier.”  
“I’m sorry, makes what easier?”  
The woman stood up, straightening her clothes as if she were in uniform. “Mr. and Mrs. Woodcombe, my name is General Diane Beckman of the Unites States Air Force.” She handed Devon her credentials, while Ellie looked over at Mr. Clark. He nodded. Ellie looked back and took the wallet, staring at the picture. Yes, this woman looked much more at home in a uniform. She handed the wallet back.  
General Beckman took it. “Your brother works for me.”  
Devon said, “Chuck’s in the Air Force?”  
No, thought Ellie.  
“No,” said General Beckman.  
“He’s in the NSA?” asked Ellie.  
“Not…exactly,” said the General.  
“I always knew he was good at coding, at computers and electronics. Is that what he–?”  
“No,” said Beckman again. “At least not primarily. Your brother came to work for me about a year and a half ago, under very unusual circumstances. It wasn’t voluntary, on anyone’s part.”   
“You were ordered…?”  
“Not at all,” said the General. “The circumstances of his…conscription…forced our hands. We could not simply remove him, nor could he be allowed to not work for us. I cannot tell you more at this time.”  
“Why not?” asked Ellie, more than a little disturbed by the casual way the General said ‘remove’.  
“Because everything about your brother’s association with us is classified so highly that the classification is classified. Only your well-documented devotion to each other’s well-being allows us to even consider making you aware of the true situation.”  
“Well-documented?” asked Ellie. “Who’s been documenting it, Chuck?”  
“Oh, Heavens, no,” said Beckman. “One of your brother’s first and, thankfully, few demands was that you be left out of the loop. He would never have participated in anything so invasive.” She looked over to Mr. Clark and nodded. Mr. Clark spoke quietly into his watch.  
“You mean someone else has been watching us?”  
“Quite a few people, actually.” Someone knocked on the door, and Mr. Clark checked before opening it.  
“Allow me to introduce Chuck’s primary security officer, Colonel John Casey of the NSA.”  
Ellie stood as the neighbor she thought she knew walked in the door. “Colonel…?”  
Devon smiled uncertainly. “John…?”  
Casey drew himself to attention and saluted, a much more natural look for him than the ugly green shirt of a Buy More employee. “Colonel John Casey, United States Marine Corps.”  
Beckman nodded, and Casey dropped the salute. They all sat, none of them at ease.  
“You’re a spy?” said Ellie.  
“We prefer the term ‘intelligence officer’, Ellie, but yes, I’m a spy.”  
“On us?”  
Casey looked less than happy. “Not directly, no. I was tasked with Chuck’s security and surveillance. I apologize that those concerns overlapped your own lives, but it was necessary. His safety was and is my greatest priority.”  
“A Marine Colonel and you’re babysitting my brother?”  
Casey smiled, trying to look human. “Actually, I was a Marine Major until a few weeks ago.”  
Ellie looked back and forth from Casey to Beckman. “What does Chuck do for you people that you have a…a…him…watching over him?”  
Casey tried. “It’s c–”  
Suddenly Ellie was towering over him. “John, if you say it’s complicated I swear I will reach down your throat and perform a double orchidectomy from the inside!”  
Devon clamped his legs together and made a pained expression on his face.  
John noticed, but didn’t let that reach his face or his voice. “It’s not complicated, Ellie, just classified out the wazoo. I think the paperwork you’d have to sign to be given clearance weighs more than you do.”  
“I’ll sign it!”  
“That may not be necessary, Doctor, Colonel,” said the General.  
“Ma’am?”  
“The Woodcombes are both doctors, Colonel, already constrained by oaths of confidentiality for their patients. We happen to have a patient in need of a doctor.”  
Somehow Ellie couldn’t quite manage to tower over Beckman, in spite of her size. “Chuck? What have you done to him? Is he wounded, injured? Why are we even talking about this?”  
“Because this is just the entrance to the rabbit hole, Doctor Woodcombe,” said Beckman inflexibly. “To be in, you must be all the way in, or stay outside forever.”  
“What do you mean, am I in? Of course I’m…I’m…” She couldn’t speak, couldn’t force the words out.  
“She’s in, General,” said Devon, suddenly. “And so am I.”  
The pressure in her head suddenly released. “Devon?” She reached for him.  
He took her into his arms. “Hey, I married all of you, babe. For better, for worse, and I guess now, for Chuck, too. He’s your family, I could never make you choose like that.”  
She sighed. “I love you.”  
“Begging the General’s pardon,” said Casey, sounding ill, “But time is pressing.”  
“Quite so, Colonel,” said Beckman, very pleased. “I think we can take your oaths as a given for now, Doctors. Perhaps you would like that explanation now?”  
Ellie pushed on Devon’s chest, and he fell back onto the couch, with her in his lap. “Yes,” she said.  
“Colonel, the floor is yours.”  
Casey looked less than comfortable. “Well, to be honest, General, I wasn’t the AOS.”  
“She isn’t here. You’ll have to do.”  
“What’s the AOS?” asked Ellie.  
“The Agent on Scene,” said Casey. “Until and unless an agent is designated in charge, the first agent on scene is in command. This mission wasn’t exactly designed, it sort of just happened, and I was the second agent on the scene. Since it’s a multi-agency task force, we generally stick to our specialties, but for the mission as a whole…”  
“And she’s not here?” asked Ellie.  
Beckman shook her head.  
“She could be,” said Casey. “We’ve still got the hook-up.”  
“I want the whole story,” said Ellie.  
Beckman sighed. “Mr. Clark.”  
Mr. Clark went outside, but within seconds was back at his post, as a technician connected a laptop to a cable stretching all the way back to Chuck’s former quarters. “All set, General.”  
“Dismissed. Mr. Clark, you may also withdraw.” She stood, and Casey moved her chair and his own to be caught by the camera. When they were alone and settled, she said, “Agent Bartowski.”  
The screen suddenly produced a progress bar.  
“Chuck’s an agent?” whispered Ellie.  
Casey grunted negatively, but all Beckman would say was, “That remains to be determined.”  
“Then who’s…?”  
The screen lit up, with Sarah’s smiling face. “Hi, Ellie.”  
***   
A/N I made up the whole AOS thing, because it seemed to make sense and other hierarchical organizations do it.


	2. chapter 2

A/N It’s an info-dump, but I tried to make it a fun info-dump.  
***   
“I’m sure he’s fine, El.”  
“He’s not here, Mrs. Woodcombe.”  
“A Marine Colonel and you’re babysitting my brother?”  
“I want the whole story.”  
***   
Ellie’s eyes bulged. “You…?” Sarah Walker, who couldn’t cook one of those wiener things to save her life? She turned to look at John. “But…” An agent? An agent. Who could never seem to commit, would miss dates and cancel at the last minute for no believable reason. The woman who called Chuck because Chuck wouldn’t call her. “On…” Station. Her station. Her house, her brother. Was it ever real? Was it ever not real?  
Sarah giggled.  
Sarah Walker was always serious, quiet, reserved. Her love for Chuck glowed from her face, her eyes, but never before had it found a voice. Sarah Walker, the spy, never giggled. Ellie seized on the sound, the woman. The name. “Bartowski?”  
Beckman checked her watch, impressed. Sarah raised her hand, displaying her new jewelry.   
“Awesome!” said Devon.  
“I’ll kill him!” Ellie shrieked. She seized the microphone, the next best thing to grabbing hold of Sarah herself. “How dare he go off and marry you and not tell me! How could he do that to me?”  
Someone tapped on the door, and Beckman said, “We’re secure.”  
Sarah sighed, as Casey and Devon between them pried the speaker from Ellie’s hands before she crushed it. “Yeah, he knew you’d be upset. But really, we had no choice, and you were already in the air by that time anyway.”  
“In the air?” It took Ellie a second to remember the last time she was in the air. “You got married this morning?”  
“To Hawaii,” Sarah clarified. “We got married about nine hours after you did.”  
What a ghastly, ghastly day. Such a wonderful, miraculous night. “I thought you were breaking up again,” said Ellie, confused. “Chuck was so upset…” And then they both disappeared…  
Sarah winced. “I tried to tell him at the reception that I wasn’t going after all. But then your father came up and said Bryce was in trouble, and you know how Chuck is when his friends are in trouble.”  
“Bryce? Bryce who?”  
Sarah raised her brows in surprise. “Larkin.” How many Bryces could one man know?  
Ellie growled in mounting anger. That rat bastard traitor. “Since when is Chuck friends with Bryce Larkin?” Wait, isn’t he dead? Yes! They were at the funeral.  
“Bryce was a spy, too. In fact, he’s the one who caused all this trouble in the first place.”  
“Don’t change the subject, Sarah,” demanded Ellie, tapping on the table. “Tell me about the wedding.”  
“Nevada,” snapped Sarah, blushing furiously. “Middle of the night, and that’s the best that can be said about it. I thought you wanted to know about Chuck.”  
“Fine,” snapped Ellie back. “I’ll let you off the hook this time but you owe me, missy!” She sat back, and Devon put an arm around her, not that she seemed to relax one bit. “So, tell me about how Bryce Larkin got Chuck into trouble. Again.”  
Sarah actually seemed relieved. “Six and a half years ago, Bryce Larkin got Chuck kicked out of school to save his life.”  
“To do what?”  
“The CIA had a program there. Bryce was already recruited, and when he found out how well Chuck did on certain tests he framed him in order to keep the CIA from picking him up too.”  
“But why? Chuck’s loyal, patriotic. He would have loved the opportunity to serve…”  
Casey grunted a firm yes.  
“Loyal patriotism would only get him so far, Ellie,” said Sarah. “The first time he would have had to draw his gun in anger would have been his last.” Sarah sat forward, doing something with her computer, and suddenly the screen showed an academic office, with two men. One had his back to the camera, but the other was clearly a very young, very upset Bryce. “You can’t put him out in the field! He won’t survive!” The screen froze in mid-shout, and Sarah came back on. “Bryce wanted to prevent that, prevent the CIA from ever discovering Chuck, so he had to discredit the tests, which ended up getting Chuck expelled.”  
The end did not justify those means! “So…so, on the off chance that my brother might become an agent–?”  
“No off chance about it, Ellie,” said Sarah, shaking her head. He would have been an agent, he just wouldn’t have been Chuck. “You have no idea what your brother can do, what he has done.”  
Ellie knew damned well what he hadn’t done. “Has he drawn a gun in anger? Has he killed anyone, or even hurt anyone?”  
“He refuses even to touch them,” said Sarah. “And even if he didn’t, I wouldn’t let him, and neither would Casey.”  
“Moron would probably shoot his own toe off,” grumbled Casey.  
Sarah tried to smother a grin, not quite successfully.  
What’s that all about? “You couldn’t have trained him?” asked Ellie. Why was she asking, it’s not like she wanted them to.  
“She would have killed me if I tried,” said Casey. “Anyway, she was the AOS, she made the call.”  
“Sounds to me like she made the same call,” said Devon.  
“Actually, it was our call, Dr. Woodcombe,” said the General. “Director Graham’s and mine. In our view Chuck was either an enemy or an asset, and in neither case did we want him given that kind of training.”  
“I’m gonna go get some coffee, El. You want some?” He pointedly excluded the people in the room who disrespected his bro-in-law.  
She shook her head, and he got out from between her and General Beckman. “How could you think he was an enemy? He’s no one’s enemy.”  
“Bryce Larkin,” said Sarah. “He went rogue, stole some critical software and sent it to Chuck. I was tasked by the CIA to get it back.”  
“Why Chuck?” Just to mess with his life some more? Ellie shook her head, that was too petty even for Bryce.  
“No one knows,” said Sarah. “Bryce said he stole it to keep it safe from a rogue agency inside the CIA, and he did, but no one knows why Chuck got it, especially after all the lengths Bryce went to, to keep Chuck out of our sight.”  
“I still say his thumb slipped.” Casey held up his hand to Ellie. “Chuck, CIA, Chuck, CIA,” he said, moving his thumb up and down. “Honest mistake, considering he was bleeding out at the time.”  
Not the only mistake. “You thought Chuck was a spy? That he was in it with Bryce?”  
“That’s what I was sent to find out.”  
Ellie gave her a strange look. “And that took you longer than five minutes?”  
Sarah smiled. “Less, actually.” Her gaze went away for a moment, someplace nice and warm, but then it came back. “I knew he wasn’t a traitor, but I still had to get the software back, not to mention I knew Casey was coming.”  
Casey shifted uncomfortably, edging away from Ellie, trying to make it look like he was just letting Devon through with his coffee. “Gee, thanks, Walker.”  
“It’s Bartowski, Colonel,” snapped Sarah, not at all nice or warm. “Get it right or you’d better stay in California.”  
“Don’t threaten me, Bartowski,” he said. “With you two gone the only worthwhile thing in this whole godforsaken state is the Reagan museum and I’ve already seen that.” He snuck a look at Ellie and her husband. “No offense.”  
“You’ll find it pretty hard to offend me right now, John,” said Ellie, her voice deceptively soft, her eyes hard. “You came here to kill my brother, didn’t you?”  
Casey sighed. He knew it had to come up sooner or later. “Not my first choice,” he said. “I was supposed to drag him back to DC and throw him in a hole. Wouldn’t have minded killing Walker, though.”  
“With only six men, Casey?” Sarah scoffed.  
“You’re not upset?” asked Ellie.  
Sarah shook her head. “Just insulted.”  
Devon put his coffee down, hands trembling at all this casual talk of killing. Not awesome. “Why kill her?”  
“Why not? Her partner steals the Intersect and she goes looking for it? I wasn’t about to take any chances.”  
Devon looked at Sarah. “Bryce was your partner? You and Jill? Poor Chuck.”  
Sarah smirked. “He has no regrets.”  
As Devon’s imagination ran wild, his wife stayed down to Earth. “Wait a minute. This Intersect thing. You got it back, didn’t you? Chuck’s no thief, all you had to do was ask him for it. So why are you still here?”  
All the government agents in the room traded glances, none of them willing to tell her it was complicated.   
RHIP. “Dr. Woodcombe,” said the General.  
“Please, call me Ellie.”  
“Thank you,” said Beckman. “The Intersect was originally just a super-sophisticated data-miner. It had two parts, the computer and the data, but it wasn’t as successful as we’d hoped. A technique was discovered for using the human brain to do much the same work, so we created a second version of the project, the Intersect proper, only with human hosts rather than a computer. The secrets were encoded into visual images, for ease of retention, but …there were snags.”  
“She means our people couldn’t handle it,” said Casey, who hadn’t been part of the project at that time but remembered what happened in Meadow Branch clearly enough. “They either couldn’t remember anything, or they died, or they went nuts.” He briefly reconsidered his words. “Mostly they went nuts.”  
“And Bryce stole the computer?”  
“He blew up the computer,” said Sarah. “He stole the data. It was all gathered and encoded, a perfect target. That’s what he sent to Chuck, every secret we had in thousands of images, and Chuck saw them all. We couldn’t get them back because they were all in him.”  
“He always has had a good memory,” said Ellie weakly.  
“He has the most perfect memory ever discovered,” said Beckman. “Bryce knew that, and used it.”  
Ellie got mad again. “Used Chuck. Could have killed Chuck, or driven him mad.”  
“But he didn’t, Ellie,” said Sarah, focusing on the positive. “Bryce was right. Chuck is the perfect host.”  
“An untrained, nerd, civilian host.”  
“That didn’t stop him using a computer virus to defuse a bomb, did it?” asked Sarah, fiercely protective of her husband’s heroism. “Or fly a helicopter like it was one of his video games. The Intersect never got us out of any of the trouble it got us into.”  
Ellie’s hands shook at the mere thoughts, years after the fact. “He what? And where were you?”  
“Which time? We were standing right next to him and the bomb, but neither of us was in the helicopter. I had to talk him through that one.”  
“Better you than me,” muttered Casey.  
“Yes, it was,” snarked Sarah back. She looked at Ellie mildly. “Casey’s not the most patient person in the world.”  
Any other day that’d be funny. “I thought you were here to keep him safe?”  
“Believe me, I tried,” said Casey. “We all did. The only thing faster than lightspeed is Chuck to the rescue.” Everyone stopped to look at him. “What?”  
“Did you just make a nerd joke, John?” asked Devon.  
Casey groaned, and slapped a hand over his eyes. “All those bugs, all those inane conversations with Morgan.” He split his fingers, peered out at his boss. “I don’t suppose you can use that Intersect computer of yours to delete?”  
“You’re a Colonel,” said Beckman, smiling. “Suck it up.”  
“Unless you want to go back to being a Major again,” added Sarah.  
“You bugged his room?”  
“Yes. And your room too, and no I didn’t see anything. I’m a professional intelligence officer, not some damn peeping Tom,” said Casey. “I bugged the whole complex, that’s why we’re having this conversation here, it’s already secure. The second we leave all those nice men in suits will be clearing them all out.”  
Ellie’s face fell. “We’re leaving? Today?”  
“We are, Doctor,” said Beckman. “If we can ever get this miserable excuse for a briefing finished, that is. You’ll have a few weeks to wind up your affairs here and then you will follow.”  
“Follow where?” asked Devon. “We can’t just leave, I’ve got patients. We need a place to live, we need jobs.”  
“We can help you with all of that, Doctor. There are many hospitals in the Washington area that can use a heart surgeon of your expertise.”  
Not good enough. “What about Ellie?”  
She’s mine. “I’ve got a rabbit hole with her name on it.”  
“Then I’m coming too.”  
Only one person gave those kind of orders in that room. “You’ll come when we call, Doctor, and not before. This team is remarkably adept at avoiding injury, but best to be prepared.”  
“I thought I was supposed to be the doctor on call?” said Ellie, taking a sip of Devon’s coffee.  
“You’re a researcher, correct?” At Ellie’s nod, Beckman continued, “Then you will do research. We’ll create a dummy consultancy for you, but you’ll be working directly for us.”  
“On what?”  
“On the Intersect, naturally. It’s far from perfect, and the scientist who created it has vanished. Again. We need you to come in and finish what Orion started, for your brother’s sake.”  
Oh, God! Ellie pushed back against her husband, and his arms went around her as they always had. She took strength and comfort from them, as she always would. “What makes you think I can? This ‘Orion’ must ten kinds of genius to make this thing, what makes you think I’m even worthy to eat his dust, much less walk in his footsteps?”  
RHIP. “Because you’re his daughter.”  
***


	3. Chapter 3

“My father?” Ellie looked ready to laugh or cry. “My dad is Orion? You’re telling me Stephen J. Bartowski is a government scientist?”  
“Oh, God no,” muttered Beckman vehemently.  
“But–”  
Casey spoke up. “I think what she means, Ellie, is that your father was a government scientist, not that he is one.”  
“Your father, El?” asked Devon, remembering the twitchy little man he’d only met a few times. “That nice old guy?”  
“That ‘nice old guy’,” said Beckman, as if the words tasted bad, “Has been a thorn in the government’s side, and my own, for years now. He brought far too much baggage to the project, and only the fact that it brought Chuck to the project as well has made any of the agony worth it.”  
“You mean Fulcrum, ma’am?”  
“No, Casey,” said Sarah. “I think she means Ted Roarke.”  
“That psycho,” sneered Casey.   
“’Roarke Industries’ Ted Roarke?” asked Ellie. Chuck loved those computers.  
“The very same,” said Beckman. “He founded his company and made his fortune, based on ideas he stole from your father. He was also the founder of Fulcrum, a secret group of rogue agents within the CIA. Agent Larkin stole the Intersect to keep it away from them.”  
“Talk about a one-trick pony,” muttered Casey. “Guy couldn’t do anything except steal from other people.”  
“So Dad went to work for you to get away from him?” And then when Roarke followed him into the CIA he disappeared completely.  
“I wish I could say I knew,” said Beckman, “But your father’s motivations were never clear. The evidence says otherwise, since he’s gone back into hiding, even though Fulcrum has been destroyed, and Roarke himself is dead.”  
“Dead?” Oh, poor Chuck. The guy was his hero.  
“Killed in custody,” said Casey. His custody. By a guy he’d trusted.   
Following the news was not a priority on a honeymoon. “By who?”  
“That’s what we need Chuck to find out,” said Beckman.  
“Bryce mentioned a group called the Ring before he died,” said Sarah. “They were cleaning up loose ends.”  
That math didn’t add up. “Wait. Bryce died two years ago.”  
“Not enough,” growled Casey. A guy he’d shot, who lived. Something wrong with that.  
Devon caught it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“It means,” said Beckman, “That Agent Larkin was revived in the ambulance by a Fulcrum team, which thought he had the Intersect. We intercepted his body in transit, and he went back to work for us, deep undercover.”  
All Fulcrum’s fault. “Can’t get much deeper than dead.”  
“He was at your wedding, Ellie,” said Sarah. “I was supposed to go with him, when they put the Intersect into him, but I changed my mind. Or really, I couldn’t change my mind. I couldn’t leave Chuck.”  
I know that, but.. “I don’t understand,” said Ellie. “Why would you have had to leave? Chuck still needed you, didn’t he?”  
Sarah smiled. Yes, but not for that. “Not as a bodyguard. Once Roarke learned about you two, he forced Orion to build a new Intersect, but your father tricked him. Instead of putting the data in, he built one to take the data out. Chuck was free of it. With no secrets in his head, there was nothing he needed me to protect.”  
So untrue. “Just his heart!”  
Sarah raised her hand again. wiggling her ring finger.   
“The CIA had built another Intersect computer,” said Beckman, “Modified somehow, and Agent Larkin was supposed to receive the upload that same night. But the Ring was there instead, and Agent Larkin was killed before he could get it.”  
“So now the Ring has it?” What was Chuck supposed to do about a government conspiracy?  
“Fortunately not. Agent Walker–at the time–went to Agent Larkin’s assistance, with Colonel Casey, and Chuck followed.”  
“What?” Why?  
“Because he’s Chuck,” said the General, seeing the real question in her eyes. “Your brother, faster than lightspeed.”  
Casey groaned. He’d never live that down.  
“While Sarah and Casey were pinned down by the Ring, and eventually captured, your brother figured out how to get into the Intersect Room where Agent Larkin was safe, but dying. He gave Chuck a device to destroy the Intersect forever.”  
Destroy a computer? “He didn’t, did he?”  
Beckman shook her head. “Over the last two years, he’d seen the danger, he knew the odds.”  
“More important, he knew the odds against us,” said Casey.  
“He uploaded it again, didn’t he?” asked Ellie, not really a question. “Why would he do that? What could the secrets in his head do to save you?”  
“We think…I think he meant to use himself as a bargaining chip,” said Sarah. “He was going to give himself up to save us.”  
“Did it work?”  
“No,” said Casey. “This group is more ruthless than Fulcrum, they would have cut their losses, eliminated all of us, except…”  
“Except what?”  
“Except Chuck,” said Sarah. “The modifications to the Intersect were skill sets, to give the user abilities he didn’t have to learn.”  
“Suddenly Chuck knew kung fu, and took out all the bad guys single-handed.”  
“Ouch,” said Devon. They probably didn’t give Chuck time to stretch first, not that he ever stretched.  
“Yeah, that’s what he said,” said Sarah. “Our entire honeymoon, he was taking hot soaks every night. Fortunately I also know techniques of therapeutic massage.”  
“Yeah, you wouldn’t want him to stiffen up,” said Devon.  
“No, Doctor Woodcombe, that’s true,” said Beckman quickly, as jaws dropped all around. “Thank you for your expert medical opinion. You’ll be pleased to know that Sarah’s task at the moment is to improve Chuck’s stamina and conditioning, for exactly that reason. Isn’t that right, Sarah?”  
“Uh…yes, general, that’s exactly right. Chuck has a lot of skills I, I mean, we haven’t checked out yet. I’d, that is, we’d hate to accidentally hurt him.”  
Devon sipped his coffee, nodding his agreement with that approach. “Doctor’s first rule. Do no harm, or as we used to say at UCLA, ‘don’t sideline when you baseline.’”  
Casey grunted his approval. “Good rule.” He’d seen more than enough training accidents in his day.  
“Once you two get to DC, Ellie, you’ll oversee a systematic study of the skill sets,” said Beckman. When Ellie nodded, she continued, “And the other training, Agent Bartowski?”  
Sarah stopped smiling. “As ordered, General.”  
“What ‘other training’, General?” asked Ellie suspiciously.  
Beckman frowned at Sarah, who frowned back. Finally she turned to her involuntary hostess. “Before your wedding, after the Intersect had been removed from Mr. Bartowski, I extended an offer for him to continue working with us, in an analytical position, but he refused.”  
Sarah gasped, drawing Ellie’s attention as she seemed to sink in on herself. “What’s the matter, Sarah?”  
“It’s all my fault.” Sarah looked up at Ellie. “It wasn’t Bryce, it was me.”  
“What was you?”  
“He said he was leaving ,” said Sarah. “He said he was leaving and he wanted me to leave with him, but I was scared and said I was going with Bryce and that was exactly the wrong thing to say and exactly the wrong way to say it–”  
“Breathe, Sarah!” commanded Ellie. She waited until Sarah stopped crying. “When was this?”  
Sarah stared down at something. “The night before the wedding.”  
“But you decided to stay?”  
Sarah nodded, still looking down. “At the beach. You looked so happy, he looked so proud…”  
Proud? “Didn’t you tell him?”  
“I was about to, we were dancing, but then Orion came up and said the Ring had Bryce and…and I…had to go after them.” After Bryce. Again.  
“He went after you, didn’t he? Not Bryce.”  
Sarah nodded.  
“You think he uploaded the Intersect again for you? Re-enslaved himself for you?”  
Sarah kept nodding.  
“Do you love him?” Ellie took the deer-in-headlights look for a yes. “Then you know what you have to do, don’t you?”  
What Sarah had to do, apparently, was to run away from the monitor without even so much as a by-your-leave to her commanding officer. Who looked unhappy, but not about Sarah.  
“I wouldn’t call it enslavement, exactly.”  
Ellie rounded on her, and this time even the General flinched. “Was he asked? Was he given a choice?” she hissed. “Was he even paid?”  
“Yes,” said Beckman, glad there was one question in there she could say ‘yes’ to. “Eventually. He paid for your wedding with it.”  
“He what?”  
“Ted Roarke invaded the church at your wedding. He demanded Chuck bring him the Intersect or he’d kill you.”  
Casey weighed in. “Chuck did what he had to do, to save you, protect the Intersect, and capture Roarke, all in one fell swoop. You can see why the General wants him working for us. Of course, the church was a little worse for the wear…”  
He said he forgot my rings. “I don’t care,” said Ellie, “I wanted the beach wedding anyway.”  
“And Chuck knew that,” said Beckman, trying to sound a more positive note. “He used his compensation to make your dreams a reality, with a little Marine Corps assistance.”  
Casey gave a happy little rumble. Good times.  
“You chose some very nice flowers,” said Ellie.  
Not him. Miles chose the flowers. The man had good taste, even if he was a traitor. Casey didn’t show her that part. “Thank you.”  
Thank you. Colonel John Casey was saying that. To her. She should be saying that, to all of them. They had protected her brother, while he’d turned a year and more of unwilling service, danger, and foolish heroics into the afternoon of her dreams. A lifetime…She stood, eyes tearing, mumbling ‘excuse me’ as she fled the room by memory.   
“Babe?” Devon stood and followed.  
Beckman checked her watch again, making a small ‘hmp’ of approval.  
Casey was fluent in grunt. “Yeah, I thought she’d crack half an hour ago. Good thing she’s a civilian, otherwise she’d be after my job.”  
“Your job?” asked Beckman.  
Movement on the monitor drew their attention, as Sarah came back. Her eyes were puffy and a bit red, but the rest of her face was under control. She looked a bit surprised at the empty spaces, but not enough to forget protocol. “My apologies for leaving so suddenly, General. Where are Ellie and Awesome?”  
Having heard the man speak for five minutes, Beckman fully understood the nickname. “We told her about Chuck’s sacrifice for her wedding. She had much the same reaction you did.” What was it about that…that…that Chuck?  
Sarah smiled. “She’s crying in her bedroom, isn’t she?”  
Casey didn’t make a show of being disgusted this time. “Sounds like it.”  
“Good,” said Sarah, visibly relieved. “I was wondering when it would all hit her, should have known it would have something to do with Chuck.”  
“Speaking of your husband, Agent Bartowski,” said Beckman sternly. “I thought I made it quite clear that you were to do everything in your power to get him to accept agent’s training in Prague.”  
Fortunately Sarah the wife had told him in no uncertain terms to reject any such offer, long before Sarah the spy had received that order. “He refuses, ma’am, but we are developing our team dynamic. He picked up the finger signals right away, and we’ve been building from there.”  
Beckman took what she could get. “Good. Agent or not, we need him on the team.”  
“Don’t worry about that, General,” said Casey. “There’s no better team player than Chuck Bartowski.”   
“You got that right,” said Ellie, coming slowly back into the room. “Sorry about running off like that.”  
“Nonsense,” said Beckman, as the couple came back to the couch and sat. Ellie waved to Sarah, and Sarah waved back, but didn’t interrupt. “We were all quite impressed that you managed to hold yourself together as long as you did. I have a position open on my staff, if you ever care to join up.”  
Ellie looked grateful for the offer, but…”No, thank you, General. I’m a doctor, not a soldier. I don’t do weapons.”  
Beckman gave her a long, somewhat sad, look. “That, doctor, is where you’re wrong. That’s why we need you.”  
Ellie looked ready to argue, but all she finally said was, “Which part?”  
“I don’t understand the question.”  
Not everyone had Ellie’s logical mind. ”You said I was wrong, what was I wrong about?”  
Beckman shot a glance to Casey, part of their own team dynamic, and he responded. “The skill sets are weapons, Ellie. Chuck may not be a soldier, but he has the weapons, and he needs to learn how to control them.”   
The General took it from there. “When we learned that the skills had successfully manifested in Chuck that first night, we offered him training in one of our European facilities, but he’s refused all our efforts to persuade him so far.”  
I’ll bet he has. And what ‘other training’ has Sarah been doing? “I hope you’re not expecting me to join your recruitment effort.”  
Crap. “No, Doctor, but in the absence of such training, we need you to study the skills and help him learn to control them in other ways.”  
Ellie nodded. “Now that I can do, but just to be clear, General, I’m joining this team for Chuck’s sake, not yours.”  
So long as you join it. A vast future opened up before her, now that these two extraordinary people were on board, and General Beckman was suddenly aware of all the things she had to do to protect that future. She didn’t hide her sigh of relief, knowing how Ellie would take it. “Thank you.” She stood. “You have made my life easier and harder at the same time, and I must be going. Mr. Clark?”  
Her assistant reentered the room. “Ma’am?”  
“The Doctors Woodcombe have joined the team.”  
He nodded to them both. “Congratulations, Doctor, Doctor. Welcome aboard.”  
Beckman spoke to Ellie. “Let Mr. Clark know your housing requirements and other needs, and we’ll have everything waiting for you in DC.” Mr. Clark had a card ready to hand to Devon, having anticipated his General’s needs, as usual. “As early as possible, please, whatever housing you choose will have to be modified appropriately. You will receive a notice of the upgrades and operating procedures ASAP. Study them carefully, especially the communication protocols. I doubt that we’ll ever meet each other in the flesh like this again, but we’ll have a lot to say to each other over the next few months, I dare say.” She looked at Devon. “You should be aware of the procedures as well, Doctor, although I can’t say I would ever like you to have to use them. In your case it’s more in the way of knowing what not to do.” She gave a sigh, the happy sound of someone looking at a job well done. “Well, I believe that covers it. Now the Colonel and I must be going. Doctors, I look forward to seeing you in Washington.”   
“General, if I may have a few moments with the Woodcombes? It’s in the nature of a personal request.”  
She was inclined to be magnanimous. Orion’s children were on the team. “Certainly, Colonel, we’ll expect you at the transport.” Soon.  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
They waited until she left, taking some of the entourage with her. Mr. Jones came in as she went out, with their bags, as promised. Casey had a word with him before he left, then went back to his hosts. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a favor to ask of you.”  
“Sure, John, what do you need?” asked Devon, always ready to help someone he considered a friend.  
“As soon as we get under way, the rest of the team will be removing all the equipment from this area. This apartment will still be covered, now that you’ve been read in, but the scope will be much less than it was.”  
“Will we be watched like this in DC, too?” asked Ellie, already beginning to regret her choice, but working to accept its consequences, whatever they happened to be.  
Casey drew himself up proudly. “I’ll be taking personal charge of your security, Ellie. Don’t you worry.”  
Ellie made herself not worry. “What can we do for you?”  
Someone knocked on the door, and Casey went to open it. Mr. Jones stood there, with something in his hand, but with the sun behind him Ellie couldn’t see what it was. “Thank you,” said Casey, taking the object, and he shut the door again. He went back to Ellie and held out a tree. “Would you mind transporting my bonsai with you? I can’t trust these troglodytes not to break things.”


	4. chapter 4

Ellie Bartowski stood tall and silent, hair whipping in the wind as the helicopter neared the ground in front of her. She felt nothing, she saw the strands coiling and snapping in front of her eyes. The propeller blades of the helicopter likewise moved in slow motion (lubdublubdublubdublubdublubdub), flinging sand all about, stinging her arms and face, anyplace on her body not protected by her bridal gown.  
Suddenly the helicopter lurched to one side and she reached forward, a shriek of “No!” echoing in her mind, not a word so much as a violent negative emotion, as Sarah appeared, shouting unheard instructions into a radio.  
Devon and Orion grabbed her arms, holding her still and steady as the machine rose and righted itself. Sarah stood unflinching as the chopper came down, down. Skids touched the Earth and Chuck hopped out, racing past Sarah to her side. The chopper blades continued to spin, moving as the sand as the helicopter continued its downward journey. Chuck held out his hand as the helicopter descended itself into the sand. She reached for him and took his hand, but he only put something in hers and let go. Her wedding rings. She looked up as he walked away from her, hand-in-hand with Sarah.  
I didn’t forget, sis. I can’t forget.  
***   
Ellie woke and sat up, shocking herself with the sudden chill of air that had never known California warmth. Devon shifted in his sleep and she immediately got up, shivering as she drew on her robe and stuck her feet into her warm fluffy slippers. She knew from experience that there was no point in trying to sleep some more, even though her dreams were getting better.  
What she did not know from experience was the layout of this new house, how very far she had to walk just to get to the kitchen, or anywhere else. She shuffled to the door, annoyed by the way the slippers she’d never had to wear before dragged on the carpeting she’d never had.  
She had to do something, but she didn’t know what.   
Her earlier estimate had been wrong, her father was eleven kinds of a genius, but none of them seemed to be a neurologist. He’d applied engineering logic to a neurological problem, and she had to become a programmer and engineer to fix it. The MRI staff at Devon’s hospital were close friends now.  
She needed tea.  
The doors to the other bedrooms stood open, like choices she’d already made. One was stuffed with still-packed boxes, and Devon’s exercise gear. The other was set up as a guest bedroom, maybe someday a child’s room. Maybe. Someday.  
She had to save Chuck. How could she get on with her life if he couldn’t get on with his?  
She left the electric kettle buzzing behind her in the kitchen, knowing she had a few minutes before it would be ready for her. Boiling water in five minutes. Once she would have thought that was a miracle of technology. Once she’d been twelve, and allowed to be a little girl.  
Her personal demon sat on the dining room table, a shiny metal box keyed to her thumbprint. Inside was a computer, a nightmare of modern technology with part of the code to the Intersect on it, never the whole thing. The box was unopenable, the computer unhackable, the only way they’d let her take even a part of it out of the building.  
Her pocket buzzed. Her phone, set on vibrate. Hopefully the hospital, no sane person called at this hour of the morning unless it was to deliver bad news. “Hello?”  
“Ellie?” said Casey’s voice. “Are you all right?”  
No. “Yes.”  
“Internal sensors detected unexpected movement.”  
“I couldn’t sleep.”  
John Casey’s primary concern was Chuck, but he’d had to learn Ellie’s patterns of behavior anyway. This was new, and new was usually bad in his book. “Anything you’d care to talk about?” She’d had to take as much in the last month as any soldier, with less support, and Casey would never let any of his men suffer alone.  
She sniffed. Compassion from him always got under her armor somehow. “Just… bad dreams.”  
He grunted over the phone. “I’ve had my share.”  
“What do you do about them?”  
“Shoot things the next day. Blow stuff up.”  
Unexpectedly, she laughed. “I don’t think that would work for me.”  
Ladies were allowed to have lady-feelings. “For you we have therapists, although finding one with a high enough clearance might be a problem.”  
Like she’d talk about her dreams to a CIA shrink. “No thanks, John.” Not Casey, not Colonel. Those names sounded too…military. “They’re getting better anyway.” Bryce wasn’t piloting the helicopter into the ground anymore.  
“If you say so.” Back to business. “Will these midnight walks be a regular thing, something I can brief my men to expect?”  
Oh, God, I hope not! “Ask me after I’ve rescued my brother, John.”  
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll have the guys here make you a cutoff, that way if you do feel the need to walk about you can let us know not to worry about it. Fair enough?”  
She wiped at her eyes. “Yes. Fair enough.”  
“Good night, Ellie.”  
Not likely. She pressed her thumb to the case.  
***   
“I owe you twenty dollars, ma’am.”  
Beckman was beginning to hate this project too, and the things she got woken up to hear. “Ellie Woodcombe?” She’d cracked, a little, back in California, and that was good. No one thought she’d finished, though. The question was when, and how. “I predicted nightmares starting a week ago, Colonel.” She had a psychiatrist all lined up, just in case, even though she’d had to go to the CIA to find him.  
“Yeah, well, she called it a bad dream, and this is the first time we caught her walking about. My guess is she’s been toughing it out in bed so far.”  
And working herself into the ground each day. Beckman had been keeping tabs. She made a note. “I’ll call Leo in the morning.”  
Casey grunted a negative. “If Leo’s any kind of a therapist, you can forget it, ma’am. I already asked.”  
“Dammit, Casey, we can’t let her suffer through this alone. She has to talk to somebody.”  
“I agree, ma’am. I suggest you.”  
Maybe she needed more sleep after all, she couldn’t have heard him right. “Me? I very much doubt she’ll open up to me. I’m the enemy, in her eyes.”  
“Then make her a friend. You both want the same thing, just in different ways, and for different reasons. I suggest you apologize and go from there.”  
“Do you think Mr. Bartowski was enslaved, Colonel?” A month and more, and Ellie’s accusation still rankled, and Casey knew it.  
He wasn’t really a good source for consolation. “Doesn’t matter what I think, ma’am. What matters is what Ellie thinks.” You’re a General. Suck it up. His voice came over the phone cold and hard. “You did order me to terminate him, on more than one occasion.” If not a slave, certainly disposable.  
She eyed the phone like it was some kind of treacherous beast. “I ordered you to terminate an unstable asset, Colonel.” ‘Unstable’ by your own accounts.  
An asset, not a person. “You ordered me to commit murder, Diane.” No way he would sully the title of General with that accusation.  
“Better his living room than some warlord’s holding cell.”  
If treason is a matter of dates, thought Casey, murder is just a matter of location. “I respectfully disagree.”  
“As long as you would have obeyed orders.”  
“Oh, I would have done that, ma’am.” Faithful unto death, he was.  
Something about his voice sent chills down her spine. “And then?”  
Brief silence.  
“Are you wearing your uniform, ma’am?”  
Of course she wasn’t, but his question was his answer. All the answer she really needed. The rest was just details, but she found herself morbidly curious today. “No, Colonel, I am not. Are you?”  
“No, General, I am not.”  
Of course he wasn’t. “Your answer, please?” Diane was allowed to say ‘please’, when Diane was allowed to say anything.  
“I would have committed acts of mercy, justice, and penitence. Ma’am.”  
Plucked brows rose. “Mercy and justice. I’m surprised.”  
“The mercy would have been for Agent–for Sarah. She was there. You would only have gotten what you deserved.”  
“Yes.” Not by a long shot. She threw off the covers. She wasn’t used to getting death threats before breakfast. “I guess we should both be glad the question is moot now.”   
John grunted acknowledgement. “Our boy became a man. If I’d known him getting dropped off a building would do that, I’d have done it myself months ago.”  
She cinched her robe tight. “It wasn’t the getting thrown so much as the getting caught, I’d say.”  
“Yes, Ma’am.”  
Back to that again. “Do you see any way out of this situation, Colonel?”  
“No, ma’am, but I’m not Orion’s child, either. If there’s a way out Ellie will find it, or else Chuck will come up with some lamebrained way to make his affliction useful.”  
Diane Beckman sat heavily on her bed, thoughts of breakfast for the moment forgotten. Chuck let loose on the world, with those skills added to his other demonstrated talents? What couldn’t he do? What wouldn’t he do, once he realized the power he held. “Let’s hope it’s the former.” Otherwise John and Sarah would find themselves protecting the world from Chuck, instead of the other way around.  
***  
Ellie yawned and shivered, warm mug clutched in her hands. The house wasn’t cold, though, just the time of day. She should be asleep, under covers, her body’s thermostat set on low.  
Too late now.  
Too early. Devon would be getting up soon. He wasn’t an intern, thank God, but he was the newest member on the staff, so he got the worst schedule. Or he would, until he found whichever cute young thing was in charge of scheduling, and made her his friend. Or an old, ugly thing. Or even a male thing. Devon was real good at making friends.  
She was better at making breakfast, and Devon, bless his hungry heart, was very well aware of which side of the bread his toast was buttered on, or whatever the stupid saying was. And it had to be more productive that what she was doing now.  
She hated studying code, it always put her to sleep. She’d much rather work her way through it with test cases, but the only sample was Chuck, and she really wanted to know what she was doing before she started experimenting. She spent days in the lab, examining the circuitry as it was being built and installed. Sort of like a brain, once she got used to it. A brain she walked around inside of, and tinkered with.   
She spent nights reading code until her eyeballs ached, neat little folders with stupid names that only had to mean something to her father because he was the only one who read it. Sometimes they meant something to his daughter, too, and she could see connections between files that no one else had the family history to understand. Almost like a family code, almost…like he was there with her. Over the last few weeks she’d cycled through it twice, maybe, enough to get a feel for the structure of the files, to know what went where.  
And to know when it didn’t. She could have sworn that a folder labeled ‘Vanilla Fudge 8’ hadn’t been there the last time.  
***   
The phone rang, but Sarah’s hand shot out and strangled the annoying trill before it could finish. Unlike alarm clocks, the phone was allowed to live. The caller, maybe not. “Bartowski.”  
Chuck rolled over and drummed his fingers 1-2-3-4 along the inside of her thigh. She reached down and moved his hand, pressing her fingers 1-2-1-2 against his palm as she did. “It’s Ellie,” she said, passing the phone over. “She sounds excited.”  
Chuck took the phone, pressing a kiss against the hand that held it. “Hey, sis.” He listened for a second and sat bolt upright. “Yeah, sure, I remember. Roofers, huh?”  
Sarah rolled out of bed and started gathering their clothes.  
Chuck just kept talking, light and casual. “Yep, we’ll be there, bright and early. Count on it.” He pressed the ‘end’ button.  
Sarah seemed to shake, and all her clothes fell off. “What’s the message, Chuck?”  
He hardly noticed her state of undress. “She wanted to remind us about her invitation to a special breakfast at her place, but could we please move it up because she had to meet with some roofers first thing.” He got out of bed and started on his own pajamas. “Does that mean what I think it does?”  
“With five keywords and phrases, it can hardly mean anything else.” Something critically important, Intersect-related, and she had to run it past them quick so she could take it to the General pronto. Sarah swept up her husband’s clothes and threw them at him. “Get a move on.”  
***   
General Beckman looked up as her monitor beeped. She considered not answering, but maybe Colonel Casey had come up with some good news to compensate for this morning’s little imbroglio. She pressed the button on her console that accepted the connection and blocked all other calls. To her surprise, not one but three people were looking at her, none of them a Marine. The Bartowskis looked pleased, but this wasn’t their TV communicator. “What can I do for you, Ellie?”  
Bright smile. Not what she’d expected, given the Colonel’s report. “I have excellent news, General.”  
Some days, ‘excellent’ had a different meaning than others. Today was a high-bar sort of day. “Can you remove the Intersect from Mr. Bartowski’s head and end my suffering?”  
Ellie’s face fell. “How’d you know?”  
General Beckman stared at her.  
“General?”  
Diane jerked, startled. Right. Civilians. “Yes. Yes, Doctor Woodcombe, that’s…very good news.” Her clenched fingers were white, it was so good. “I see you’ve informed your brother already.”  
“I needed a second opinion, General. He verified Orion’s code for the removal process.”  
That would have been a fun surprise to spring on him, and it’s not like her job gave her all that many opportunities to deliver good news, but Diane could see Ellie’s point. “Congratulations, Chuck.”  
“I only confirmed her suspicions, General. She already knew what she’d found.”  
“Which was what?”  
Ellie leaned forward, tapping her finger on a closed metal case. “A hidden folder on the secure laptop, called Vanilla Fudge 8.”  
Beckman wasn’t a big fan of sweets. “This was meaningful to you?”  
Ellie snorted. “Not very, but enough that I googled it.”  
Chuck moved at light speed. “Vanilla Fudge was a rock band a long time ago, General. Their eighth album was an homage to one of…um, another rock group’s albums, called ‘In Through the Out Door’.”  
“Mr. Bartowski, please make sense.”  
“The Vanilla Fudge album was called Out Through the In Door, General. A clear, well, almost clear, semi-transparent reference to–”  
As a General she preferred the direct approach. “Taking something out the way it went in.”  
“Exactly.”  
“How long would it take you to implement this code, Ellie?”  
Ellie looked at her brother. “A week, would you say, for the data sets?”  
Chuck nodded. “Something like that, yeah. Modify the code, tweak the emitters…”  
“Just the data, Doctor?” asked Beckman. “What about the skills?”  
Ellie looked apologetic, of all things. “My father didn’t code those, General. They’re built on a different framework, one that sort of…plugs in to the existing setup. I don’t know how to remove them, not safely.”  
General Beckman made her career out of spotting and seizing opportunities. “It will have to wait, then. Mr. Bartowski’s safety is of the utmost importance.”  
Ellie smiled. Sarah looked over at her man. Chuck looked…hungry.  
There’ll be no enslaving today. “Proceed with preparations for the extraction, Doctor. The sooner we can get those secrets out of his head, the better, for all our sakes.”   
Chuck thumped his head against Ellie’s shoulder in mock-relief as she said, “Yes, General. Thank you.”  
“Thank you, Ellie.” Diane Beckman smiled. “Are you free for lunch? I think we have a lot to talk about, don’t you?”


	5. Nine2five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The previous episode (4 chapters) was a prequel written long after this first season of nine2five was complete. This is where nine2five actually starts. I had no idea at this point what I wanted it to be, beyond simply taking some basic ideas from the show and following them through to their logical conclusions. Chuck quit the Buy More. He doesn't want to be a spy. He does want to be with Sarah. I also wanted everyone to act more intelligently, with none of the soap opera gimmicks they used to create angst on the show. Since I relocated the show to DC I felt I had to introduce some new players, some of which were good and useful, some of which dropped out almost immediately. These next two episodes (8 chapters) can be seen as a replacement season premier for Pink Slip.

Chuck woke before the alarm, too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. For a little while he just lay there, enjoying the feeling of Sarah’s warmth against his side and her even breathing as she slept, trying to let it lull him back into a doze. Instead he felt her hand move, fingers pressing 1-2-3-4 against his skin under the covers. Status?  
He pressed 1-2-1-2 against her back. Green.  
“So why is your heart pounding so hard? You went from zero to tense in a moment, Mr. Bartowski, and almost threw me out of our bed.”  
Chuck smiled. He’d been called Mr. Bartowski all of his life, usually by people who were annoyed with him, but he didn’t smile those times. When Sarah called him Mr. Bartowski, though, she meant something totally different. “Just first day jitters, Mrs. Bartowski.”  
Sarah twisted her head up to look at him, still snuggled close. “Chuck, you’ve spent the last year and a half with a computer’s worth of image-encrypted government secrets in your head, autocratic generals and devious spies running your life, lying to your friends while jumping off of buildings, dodging air strikes, and getting out of the car to run to the rescue of beautiful damsels in distress far more often than I like to admit—”  
Chuck gave her a quick hug. Sometimes she had been the damsel, sometimes it was some usually-brunette female person that he’d foolishly let come between him and the woman of his dreams. In either case apology was called for.  
She hugged him back. “But you’re getting first day jitters now?”  
He shrugged. “I’ve never met General Beckman in person before.”  
She laughed, propping herself up on one elbow to stare down at him. “Those would be ‘going-to-meet-the-intimidating-NSA-General’ jitters, Chuck. I can understand that. All this time you’ve only seen her over a monitor, and believe me those things make everyone look larger than life, but she’s really rather short.” Sarah’s eyes got a faraway look in them. “On the other hand, you being so tall and all might make it worse…”  
“This is you being reassuring? ‘Cause you sort of suck at it. Can we maybe go back to you yelling at me for my foolish heroics and then making it up to me in the broom closet afterward? That’d calm me right down.”  
“I think we can do a bit better than a broom closet now.” She leaned down to kiss him.  
***  
Chuck got out of his shower to find his lovely bride of not nearly long enough setting a plate of eggs and toast and other good stuff on the table for him. It was all very ‘Leave It to Beaver’ except for the filmy nightgown under the frilly apron, and under that... “I just got an idea for a great new Reality TV show,” he announced.  
She looked down at herself, then back at him with a grin. “Uh-huh.” She knew exactly what gutters his mind ran in. She sauntered over to him, saying, “It’d fail miserably. I’ll only ever have one viewer.” She kissed him lightly. “Who’d better get started. Casey called, he’s on his way over.”  
Chuck groaned. He liked living on cloud nine but Casey was a very down-to-Earth sort of guy. He sat down and started eating.  
“Hey!” She threatened him with her spatula. “Enjoy that!”  
Slowly.  
***   
“Have a nice morning, sweetie.” She pressed a kiss against his lips with two fingers. “I’ll pick you up at lunch. Front desk.” She looked past him, at the driver. “Casey. Drive safe.” She stood up and walked away, over to their own car and her trip to Langley.  
Casey made a noise as Chuck rolled his window up. Not one of his usual grunts, and when Chuck looked over he saw his handler actually smile. A little. “What?”  
Casey put the car into gear and pulled out into the street. “All that devotion to duty and love of country, boiled down to you. I don’t know whether to smile, puke, or pray for your soul.”  
Chuck smiled. “Try grunting.”  
Casey grunted. The geek-loser-moron he’d had to endure for so long had vanished, replaced by someone far more respectable. Walker had been good for him, not that he’d ever say so. “Okay, listen up, Bartowski. You may not be under oath or under arms, but your boss is a General and you will display a proper amount of decorum in her presence, is that clear?”  
“Uh…sure. Define decorum.”  
Casey sighed. “You will address her as ‘Ma’am’. You will not interrupt. You will sit still and shut up, however hard that may be for you. You will answer her succinctly when and only when she asks you a direct question. She’s even less interested than I am in your usual rambling explanations, and she won’t care about your lady-feelings, sandwiches on desert islands or the latest video game characters.”  
“That…doesn’t leave much.”  
Casey smiled. “Try grunting.”  
***   
Casey saluted, at attention. “Colonel John Casey, reporting as ordered, General.”  
Beckman saluted back. “At ease, Colonel. Gentlemen, please sit.” She waited until they had complied. “Mr. Bartowski—”  
Chuck opened his mouth, but a grunt from Casey closed it again.  
“—Are you certain you won’t reconsider the original opportunity offered to you? I had intended to send you to our training facility in Eastern Europe to learn how to use the skills of the new Intersect properly.”  
Chuck shifted. He and Sarah had gone over this in detail on their honeymoon. “Yes, ma’am, I’m sure. I know that I’ve gotten myself into more than a bit of trouble over these last two years, but that was always because I had to. I never went looking for it and I don’t want to start.”  
“Begging the General’s pardon,” said Casey, “But I agree with Chuck’s self-assessment. He’ll never be able to commit to the job one hundred percent. He might destroy himself trying.”  
Generals don’t sigh, but Beckman came close. All those skills, wasted on a civilian. An extremely important civilian. “We agree, Colonel. Skills without the right attitude mean nothing. I was simply indulging a hope that the changes Sarah wrought included his attitude, but I can see that that is not the case. If anything he’s affected hers. So we have devised a role which will make good and proper use of the skills and attitude he does have in abundance.”  
Chuck began to smell a rat. He was supposed to be an analyst. This was supposed to be a courtesy call. “What skills would those be, General?”  
Beckman stared at him calmly. “Mr. Bartowski, do you think that if we removed the Intersect that it would remove all your problems? That you could simply disappear among a sea of analysts, to be known primarily as the husband of Sarah Walker?”  
“Isn’t that why you had Casey and Sarah guarding me all this time? All the secrets in my head? You have my father’s program, just take them out.”  
“Chuck, your father’s program has changed the game,” said Casey at a glance from his commanding officer. “It’s true you’re no longer stuck with having those ‘secrets in your head’…”  
“But it’s also true that you’re the only one who can survive having them there,” said Beckman. “We would have to guard you anyway, for that alone, so we may as well get some use out of the deal.”  
“What deal?” No way he’d accept another handler. “Sarah and I are married now.”  
“And you’ll stay that way, Chuck. In fact we couldn’t have hoped for a better arrangement.”   
Chuck stared at him, betrayed and suspicious. “And why is that, Casey?”   
Beckman answered. “As your wife, she’ll be there to guard you without us having to carry the assignment in our books. Any agent trying to find you would not know where to look for that information. Nor would any agent be so openly involved with an asset. She’s obviously an agent…”  
“Therefore I’m clearly not an asset.”  
Casey chuckled. “Nope.”  
“So what am I? Still just an analyst? That’s what I was supposed to be.”  
The General and the Colonel shared a look. “Unfortunately the CIA’s bureaucracy moved somewhat faster than our own in this matter, Mr. Bartowski. They assigned an analyst to your wife’s team before we could secure that slot for you. The analyst pool is a possibility but we think we have an assignment that’s even better as a cover.”  
Chuck frowned. “A cover for what?”  
Beckman seemed surprised at the question. “Your work as the Intersect.”  
“But you just said I wasn’t going to be the Intersect anymore!”  
Casey glared at him. “No, we didn’t, Chuck. We just said that as far as you and the missus are concerned you’re not going to be an asset. And you’re not. You won’t have the Intersect outside the building.”  
“We’ll use your father’s program to remove it before you leave each day…”  
“And put it back in the next day?”  
General Beckman nodded. “Correct. At home and elsewhere, you would still be guarded as a necessary piece of a critical tool, but we have lots of those. Without the secrets actually present in your head the threat level would be much reduced. Your wife and her team will guard you when they’re local, we’ll assign a backup when they’re not. Once in the building you will download the Intersect, and at that point the level of security will increase, but since you’ll be physically in the CIA’s most guarded building no one will notice.”  
“What about my Intersect skills?”  
“Keep those to yourself, Chuck. In case an enemy manages to get past us and the little woman, those skills may be all that keeps you out of their hands, so don’t let anyone know you have them.”  
“Does Sarah know?”   
“The DDO will be reading Agent Wal—Agent Bartowski in this morning.”  
“Good, I need to talk it over with her.”  
“Do you honestly think she’ll refuse?”  
“Do you honestly think she’ll calmly accept me making a unilateral decision of this magnitude?”  
Casey chuckled again. Even Beckman’s lip twitched. “So, contingent upon Sarah’s formal acceptance of our strategy, and any codicils she may suggest, Colonel Casey will now administer the necessary oaths.”  
One administration of necessary oaths later…  
“Excellent, Mr. Bartowski, glad to have you voluntarily on the team at last. I understand Sarah will be here to get you shortly. She will take you to Langley and the Data portion of the Intersect will be removed. Colonel Casey will meet you there tomorrow, to introduce you to your cover position in Interiors Maintenance.”  
“My cover where?”  
“Interiors Maintenance.”  
“You’re making me a janitor?”  
“Oh, not just any janitor, Chuck. You’re going to be the laziest, sloppiest, most incompetent janitor in United States history.”  
“You’re making me Janitor Jeff?”  
Casey smirked. “Welcome to government service.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One schtick I was trying to get rid of was this joke that Sarah was always and insanely jealous of any brunettes that Chuck showed an interest in, which one group of writers adopted and others copied. I deliberately disposed of it here. This was also supposed to have a surprise reveal that Ellie was part of the team, so just forget about the last episode, okay?

Sarah Walker saw them as she signed in at the front desk of the NSA building, her wonderful, wonderful husband making even the institutionally ugly décor of the NSA lobby look pretty as he sat on the uncomfortable chairs talking to an attractive brunette caretaker.   
Sarah’s eyes narrowed.  
Naturally the two were best friends by now, Chuck did that to everyone. Naturally the woman placed her hand gently on his arm as she laughed at some comment he’d just made, his very being invited such casual intimacies. Naturally the woman was looking Chuck over, from his warm brown eyes to his lovely collarbones and all the exposed parts in between, parts that she herself spent much of her time kissing.  
“Chuck!”  
Instantly Chuck’s gaze left the woman, forgetting her instantly, his face lighting up as it always did, only for his wife. She stalked up to them as they rose, glaring, and his face fell just a bit. “Sarah! We were just waiting for you. This is Agent Swanson–”  
“Kimberly,” corrected the young woman, holding out her hand.  
She smiled back, and clasped the offered hand. “Sarah Walker. A pleasure. Thank you for taking such good care of my husband.”   
“The pleasure was mine. Goodbye, Chuck.” Agent Swanson vanished inside.  
Sarah frowned at her husband. “You. Car. Now.”  
Chuck waited until they got outside. “What did I do?”  
Sarah let out an exasperated sigh. “The same thing you always do, Chuck. It’s just more noticeable when women like her are around!”  
He smiled. “Sarah, are you jealous?”  
Now she looked confused. “Me? No, why would I be? I own your smile.” She smiled.  
He smiled back automatically. “Which smile?”  
“That one. Hordes of beautiful ladies throwing themselves at your feet but you smile like that for me. Only for me. I’m not sure whether to thank Jill or deck her.”  
“You did worse than deck her, you arrested her.”  
“She deserved it, for breaking your heart, leaving you stuck in a hopeless, ambition-less rut at the Buy More. Maybe I’ll thank her next time. If she hadn’t broken your heart I’d be five years too late. I’ve seen how many have started lining up since I got here.”   
“There won’t be a next time for Jill, but aren’t you afraid that one of these hordes of beautiful ladies will sweep me off my feet?”  
“Me?” Afraid? “You?” Swept? “Please.”  
He blushed. “I’m just a guy, after all.”  
She stopped in her tracks and turned, stopping him with a sharp finger planted against his chest. “No you are not! You are a man!” Her fingers went up to trace those lovely lines of his neck. “My man, Chuck Bartowski. I’ve seen enough guys to know the difference.”  
“You stole that from Say Anything!”  
“It’s a good movie!” He broke into a grin. “What?”  
He kissed her on the nose. “Somewhere along the line I turned you into a real girl.”  
She hugged him. “Somewhere between saying ‘I do’ and carrying me across the threshold, I believe.”   
Chuck stood there a moment just enjoying the feeling. “So–?”  
She pulled back enough to look him in the face without totally letting go. “So what?”  
“You’re not afraid of the competition, and you have total faith—completely justified, I might add—that I won’t give in to temptation. So why were you mad at me?”  
She made a face. “And what makes you think I’m not still mad at you?” Breaking her embrace, she took his hand and towed him off.  
“If this is you being mad I must remember to do it more often.”  
“Don’t,” she warned, “The make-up sex might kill you.”  
“Okay, rethinking my devious plot. Why are you mad at me?”  
“Agent Swanson was ogling you.” She got into the car, just a government-issue POS but he assumed there was a reason for it.  
He got in too. “Aha, so you are jealous.”  
“No, I’m annoyed that you took your tie off when I told you not to. I don’t care about the NSA so much but now we’re heading for where I work, and I want to show off my man looking all spiffy.”  
Her man, the new, incompetent Interior Maintenance trainee. Apparently she hadn’t been read in on everything. “Uh, Sarah…”  
One reading her in on everything later…   
“I swear I will shoot them both! Let the new janitor dispose of the trash!” She pulled out her pistol and the silencer, started screwing it on.  
Chuck laid his hand over hers. “Now, sweetie, that sounds like a great plan, really it does, but I honestly don’t want all of our children to be born in between conjugal visits.”  
“Fine,” she snarled, putting the weapon down. “Can I torture them a bit? They won’t miss a few what do you mean ‘all’?”  
Crap. “Did I say ‘all’?” Chuck smiled weakly. “I meant ‘any’, it just came out ‘all’.”  
She fixed him with a predatory look. “How many is all, Chuck? Eight? Ten?”  
Can you blame a guy for panicking? “How high can Colonel Casey count?”   
Twenty, if he’s naked. She briefly mourned that missing toe. “Okay. You drive a hard bargain, Bartowski, but I won’t cut anything off.”  
***   
She pulled over briefly, just outside the entrance to the parking lot. “Here, put this on.”  
It looked like a cloth bag. “How?”  
“It’s a hood, Chuck. No one can be allowed to know the identity of the Intersect, not even the people guarding him. It’s bad enough you’re as tall as you are.”  
He put it on. “It’s dark in here. Is my seeing eye dog allowed to know the identity of the Intersect?”  
She put the car into gear, turned into the lot. “Turn it around, Chuck. There’s a thin cloth panel you can see through.”  
“You’re right, there is.”  
“Don’t talk, we’re at the booth.”  
“IDs, please.”  
Sarah handed over her ID, and a special pass. “I’m in this car alone, understood?”  
The guard’s eyes bugged out at some of the names on her pass before he handed them back. “Yes, ma’am. Have a nice day. Gate four.” Only her pass would open that gate, and if she tried to go through another gate now he or another guard just like him would shoot her.  
She pulled up outside the proper door and got out of the car, hurrying over to the other side before the asset could open it himself, like a good handler would. Chuck got out of the car and stood, looking Sarah pretty much in the eye. She flinched. “What the hell have you done?”  
His voice was low, and muffled by the bag. “It’s an Intersect skill, Agent Walker, you said I was too tall. If my pants were baggier I could drop another inch or two, but this should be enough for now.”  
She smiled. “Not flashy, but effective. Excellent work, Agent Carmichael.”  
“Let’s go in, this is really killing my thighs.”  
Once past the inner guard and inside the secure elevator Chuck stood straight and removed the hood. “Damn that hurts.”  
Sarah snuggled up close in their few precious moments of alone time. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”  
“It’s my legs, Sarah.”  
“So? The halls are cleared, no one will see us. We could get started ransoming Casey’s thumb right there in the hall and no one would know.”  
“Okay, first of all, eww! Second of all, I’d know, and if that’s really how you plan to keep track I’m cutting you off at nineteen, because third, eww!”  
“You’re cutting me off, are you?”  
Chuck slapped his hands over his ears. “I’m not listening, la-la-la-la!”  
The door opened, and he dropped his hands quickly. “Come on,” said Sarah, “Let’s get you set up.”  
The Intersect room was familiar, identical to the one in which Bryce had died. Chuck stood by the monitor while Sarah made a phone call. “Base, this is Kaleidoscope.”  
“Kaleidoscope, Base. Is the subject ready?”  
She gave Chuck a thumbs-up. “Subject is ready, base.”  
“Clear the room, Kaleidoscope. Upload commencing in three zero seconds.”  
“Understood, Base. Kaleidoscope out.” She closed the phone. “Good luck, Chuck. I’ll be just outside.” She backed towards the door, trying to keep him in sight as long as she could. She would have preferred to be inside, they were sure the upload wouldn’t hurt anyone, but the room had been rigged with remote telemetry and they didn’t want extra bodies in there. Once on the other side, the door sealed and the overhead light turned red.  
She needn’t have worried. After the door closed, Chuck looked back down at the monitor at the message written there: ‘Good Luck, Son’. As far as he knew, no one knew his father’s whereabouts. He certainly wasn’t on the Intersect team. Officially. “Thanks, Dad.”   
At T plus thirty seconds precisely the walls started to flicker.  
At T plus one minute precisely the overhead light turned green again, and the door unsealed. At T plus one minute and two seconds precisely Sarah was standing next to her dazed-looking husband as he wavered on his feet. Her phone rang. “Kaleidoscope, this is Base. What is the subject’s condition?”  
“Base, Kaleidoscope. Subject is conscious and vertical.” With a little help.  
“Excellent, Kaleidoscope. Bring subject to medical for part two evaluation. Base out.”  
Sarah looked into her husband’s eyes, well, the one pointing her way at the time. “Chuck, can you walk?”  
He closed his eyes, shuddering from top to bottom. When he looked at her again both eyes were looking in the same direction. “You’re kidding, right? I feel like I can float there!”  
“It’s a hallucination, Chuck. Believe me, I just kept you from falling over like a board and I know how much you weigh. No floating for you.” She took his arm, just to be on the safe side. “Come on, time for your post-dump check up.”  
“Lay on, MacDuff.”  
“Isn’t that ‘lead on’?”  
“No. Honestly, no one gets that right.”  
“Whatever. This way, Shakespeare.”  
Medical, sensibly, had been placed right across the hall from the Upload Room, for obvious reasons. So Chuck didn’t have to stumble very far to make it to the exam room and collapse into a chair. Sarah waited by his side until the doctor finished studying the telemetry results and looked over at the subject for the first time. “Hello, Chuck, Sarah.”  
Sarah smiled back. “Hello, Ellie.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie is not happy.

“They turned him into a what?” Even as outraged as she was, Doctor Eleanor Bartowski-Woodcomb kept her voice low for the sake of her recuperating patient. Her brother was resting for her prescribed hour before the next stage in his examination, and she took doctor’s orders seriously, especially her own.  
Sarah matched her volume, if not her tone. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”  
Ellie shook her head. “Oh, no. Oh no you didn’t. Someone with your skills, training, and weapons in the trunk would have taken more direct action, and I think I would have heard about a terrorist rampage cutting a bloody swath through NSA headquarters, even stuck down in this high-security hole like I’ve been all day.”  
Sarah blushed in combined amusement and anger. “Your brother had a hand in that.” She could still feel the warmth of his hand on hers. “Something about multitudes of children, prison hospitals, and conjugal visits.”  
“You talked him into multitudes?” Ellie looked shocked. “I’m glad he’s resting now, then.” She frowned. “How much is multitudes, anyway?”  
“Twenty.”  
Ellie sprayed cold water all over the clinic. “Twenty?”  
Sarah shrugged, and handed her a tissue. “Casey ran out of expendable digits. And…other things.”  
“You held John Casey to ransom?”  
“In absentia.” Sarah sighed. “But now I can’t kill him or torture him, so I’m SOL on the revenge front.”  
“Bullcrap.”  
Sarah laughed. “What?”  
“Bull-loney. And other words beginning with ‘bull’ that a PG-13 gal like me isn’t very comfortable saying.” Ellie tapped Sarah’s hand with her finger. “You are Sarah Walker, the CIA’s best. You should be able to think rings around those NSA goons, especially for what they did to your husband and my brother. Don’t they have classes in how to do that sort of thing?”  
Sarah looked away. “Uh, yeah, I guess, but Seduction School really isn’t…and anyway I never really liked those sorts of missions…”  
“C’mon, Sarah, you’ve gotta think sideways here!”  
“Now you’re sounding like my father. I didn’t like my missions for him either.”  
“Well channel him now, just this once. What would your father do?” Sarah thought back to the last time she’d seen her father, and smiled. Ellie liked that smile. “And whatever you think of I wanna help.”  
Sarah nodded. “Oh, yes. You can definitely help with this one.”  
***  
Chuck lay in bed like a good boy, afraid to leave his bed against doctor’s orders, even when said doctor was being uncharacteristically quiet on the other side of the door. With his wife. Especially then. Nature, on the other hand, was definitely calling. He snuck one foot out of bed and on to the floor.  
The door opened. “Hey Chuck.”  
He pulled his leg back up, but it got caught in the covers. “I wasn’t trying to get up but I need to go to the bathroom!”  
Ellie frowned. “You know what I said. If you need to go, just ring the bell. I’ll have Sarah here bring you a bedpan.”  
Sarah looked as shocked as Chuck. “What?”  
“Sorry, Sarah, but all the money for the project went into building the room across the hall. I don’t have a nurse. I just figured, you being his wife and all…”  
Sarah froze. Bedpan duty?  
Chuck burst out laughing. “Too funny, sis. You really had her going, there.”  
Ellie smiled and turned to her victim. “I’m sorry, I know, that was cruel, but really you should have seen your face.” She spun back. “Where do you think you’re going, mister?”  
Chuck froze, his foot again on the floor. “Uh, Ellie, I really do have to go.”  
Ellie relented. “Fine, go. We were just coming in to tell you your hour’s up. Your phase three will be here soon so get ready.”  
As Chuck hobbled to the little room in the corner Sarah asked, “Phase three?”  
“Mm-hmm. They have to make sure all traces of the Intersect data are gone. They have a guy who’s going to give him a thorough going-over, basically turn his brain inside out looking for any traces. It’ll be kind of hard to watch, I know I’m not going to stay. You coming?”  
Sarah stood her ground. “Fool me once, Ellie Bartowski.”  
Ellie pouted. “You’re no fun, you know that? Okay, this guy’s gonna come in here and chat with Chuck for a while, while some pictures show on a screen. We’ll have Chuck rigged up to see if there’s any suspicious brain activity but we’re just getting some baseline statistics at this point.”  
“He’s not going to hurt Chuck?”  
“Please, the worst this guy’ll do is stand too close and try to look down your blouse. I’m told his boss was a lot creepier, but he disappeared a couple of years ago and nobody misses him.”  
“I doubt that,” said Sarah. “CIA scientists don’t just disappear. Who was he? There had to have been an investigation.”   
Ellie shrugged. “Somebody named Zarnow, that’s all I know. Rumor has it he was blown up and there was a cover-up. You okay Sarah? You look like you’re choking.”  
“It’s…the air in here, a bit dry. Is there any water?”  
“In the outer room. I have to get Chuck set up first.” Ellie walked away. “Chuck, what happened, did you fall in?”  
Sarah took up station in the outer room, waiting for Zarnow’s ‘assistant’. In a few minutes, the door opened, and a tall, rather portly man entered the room, pushing a cart with some equipment already set up on it. He showed no surprise at her presence, merely appreciation at having another beautiful woman to look at. “Hi, I’m Sam,” he said in a strong Southern accent, as if that was the most important thing she could need to know about him. He held out his hand.  
She took it. “Sarah Walker. Agent Sarah Walker. I’m your subject’s handler.”  
Sam smiled amiably. “Well, he seems to be in good hands, then. Is the doctor in there with him?”  
Sarah smiled back. “Yes, she’s just getting him set up for you. I’d offer you something but it’s not my office and I only know where the water cooler is.”  
“From your hands even that would be a blessing.”  
She laughed, and took that as a ‘Yes’, so she got him a small cup of water as Ellie came out of the back room. For a second he stared at Sarah and the water, before taking the cup from her hand. “Thank you kindly, Agent Walker.”  
“He’s all ready for you, Sam,” said Ellie. For some reason she’d put on a smock. Sam gave her a cordial nod but his attention soon returned to Sarah.  
“What is all this?” she asked, as if she hadn’t seen Zarnow setting up much the same equipment for his test of Patient X.  
“The screen’s for the trigger images. You know about those, right?”  
She nodded. “I saw them once, too, although I had sunglasses on at the time.” She didn’t see any sunglasses on the cart.  
“No, no, those are for the upload images, much worse, but the sunglasses block out critical frequencies. I have trigger images here, specially made to prompt for specific data.”  
“So you’re forcing him to flash?”  
“Yes. We can’t make him do it most of the time, the human brain makes its own connections, but for some of the images we have specific triggers. Part of what I’ll be doing is research to create user-specific trigger patterns.”  
Using Chuck as a guinea pig. “Well, good luck to you,” said Sarah, in the tone of someone whose eyes are glazing over.  
“Thank you. Well, ladies, it’s been a pleasure, but duty calls.” He pushed his cart through the door to the back room.  
“Nice smock,” said Sarah.  
“It keeps the things I want off me off me.” She made a face in Sam’s direction. “How do you stand it?”  
Sarah snorted. “After some of the things I’ve been through, a little old-fashioned genteel lecherous appreciation is almost refreshing. He’s not trying to ravish me, I’m not trying to manipulate him, so it all evens out. It’s not like he can help it.”  
“Look, I know it’s hard-wired into us, and I certainly don’t mind Devon looking at me that way, I’m just saying it would nice if more men made an effort to be less obvious about it. It’s not like that’s the only hard-wired reflex we’ve got.” Ellie stripped off the smock, its purpose served, and went back to her desk. “Okay, good, scans are good, and synchronized to Sam’s feed.”   
“Can I watch?”  
“If you want to. It should be about as interesting as watching paint dry.” Ellie pointed at an inset window, currently showing a hippopotamus. “The images are timed, and we can tell if an image sets off a spike anywhere. Which none of them should. Sam’s also chatting with him, somewhat scripted but not iron-clad. It’s being recorded though, so we can do a match later if we need to.”  
Sarah watched as the images changed, flicking her gaze to the line on the paper. Eventually she gave up, having given herself a headache. “This is dull.”  
Ellie nodded. “The picture part is. I’m listening to the conversation. It’s kind of cute to watch the way his waves spike when Sam mentions certain blonde super-agents.” She tapped the screen. “Like here.”  
Just then, Chuck laughed, a machine-gun, rapid-fire, braying laugh completely unlike the sounds he normally made. Sarah knew her man, and whatever wasn’t right was definitely wrong. She left Ellie behind without a thought and pushed through the door.  
“You’re kidding, right?” said Chuck, not seeming aware of her presence. “You want me to tell tales out of school about Agent Walker’s husband? He tore strips out of an NSA Major over a parking space!”  
Ooh, clever little detail, Chuck. Sarah arranged her face into a frown. “A-hem.”  
Chuck got wide-eyed. “I wasn’t saying anything, Agent Walker!”  
“I know you weren’t, Chuck. Good boy. Sam.”  
He didn’t look up. “Uh, yes, Agent Walker?”  
“Are you really trying to subvert a National Intelligence asset with his handler in the next room?”  
“He wasn’t trying to subvert me, he was just asking me about some rumors…”  
“Quiet, Chuck. I am assigned to protect you. He’s asking you for personal details about me which could potentially weaken my ability to do that. Isn’t that right, Sam?”  
“Yes, Agent Walker.” Sam said to the floor. “I apologize. I hadn’t thought about the ramifications.”  
“For God’s sake, Sam,” said Ellie, sounding terrified, “Stick to the script. She could kill you.”  
Sarah snorted. “Not for this. The intelligence business deals in partial information, making up stories to fit the few known facts. Rumors aren’t very different. Which one was it this time, the mercenary gang he defeated with a pocket comb, or the Russian gangsters he took out while he was on the toilet?”  
“He wanted to know if it was true you met your husband when he fell off a three story building and crashed into you,” said Chuck.  
For a second Sarah glared at Sam’s hunched back, breathing heavily. “Close enough,” she said at last. “You’re done here, aren’t you, Sam?”  
His head turned as he looked at his screen. “Yes, it, uh, looks like I am.”  
“Good. Try to do better tomorrow.”  
“Thank you, Agent Walker.” He unplugged his devices and pushed the cart out without another word. Ellie bent double, choking on her laughter.   
Chuck watched Sarah’s face light up as the sound of the door closing reached them, and he smiled back. They’d done it! No way was Sarah Walker going to be married to some dorky janitor washout. Much better to have a mysterious super-agent husband for the well-known super-agent wife. Sarah raised her hand and he raised his hand too.  
Then Sarah turned an high-fived Ellie. “Woot!” they said together, and turned to look at him with grins on their faces.  
He looked back and forth, one face to the other. “What?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the first episode, where we complicate things a bit. Some of my favorite lines in this one.

“Which do you think is better, ‘plunged heroically’ or ‘swooped down’?”  
Sarah lifted the clipboard. “I’ll settle for ‘lowered yourself by 2 inches.’”  
“Two inches? It was more like thirty feet.”  
“I’m talking about that ‘make yourself shorter’ trick you pulled earlier, Chuck. It’s not on the list of skills they want me to test, but since you’ve displayed it let’s see if you still have it.”  
“Oh. You mean this.” Suddenly he seemed a bit shorter.  
“Very good. I see your knees, though.”  
“Yeah, like I said, I need looser pants for it to really work.” He stood up again. “So, plunging or swooping?”  
“How about screaming and leaping?” She tossed him a set of beanbags.  
He snatched them out of the air and started juggling. “I did not scream. Prayed, maybe. You heroic warrior types, maybe you scream and leap but us completely unheroic nerdy types, we wonder what we’re doing there in the first place. And if there was any screaming after I leapt, well, you know, I’m not aware of it because I was really kinda sorta more interested in hitting the right beautiful woman when I finally got to the rescue.”  
There were just so many things wrong with that statement, but she focused on the most important one. “You thought Sasha Banacek was beautiful?” She threw a knife his way, pointy end first.  
Her completely unheroic nerd flinched, dropping two of the bags as he knocked the knife out of the air with the third. “Uh, no, not at all, but she had a sort of assassin-y bad girl quality about her…and remember I was thirty feet up, with the wind in my eyes!”  
She looked enlightened. “Ah, I see, like beer goggles. With falling.” She tossed him three more knives, hilt first. “In the target.”  
Bullseye. “I wasn’t falling.” Bullseye. “I was swooping dramatically!” Bullseye.  
“Well, there, you see. You answered your own question.” She walked over and kissed him tenderly on the lips.   
He closed his eyes and fell, completely unheroically. “What question?”  
“Swooping or plunging to the rescue.” She grabbed his hand and tugged. “This way.”  
His eyes popped open in surprise. “Ahh!” He followed. “You’re welcome.”  
She stopped at a small table, with a miniature door mounted on it, with a full sized lock. and slapped him lightly on the cheek. “The kiss was for my husband. For you the asset, not so much. Do you have any idea of the abuse I took having to get rescued by my protectee?”  
“I must have missed that meeting.”  
“You bet your ass you missed that meeting! Casey and Roan were there too, but I was the one who had her own gun turned on her. Now pick the lock.”  
There were no tools provided. “Um…sorry?” He reached up to her hair and stole one of her pins, snapped it in half, and started to work.  
She frowned. “Don’t be. As long as my husband does the dramatic swooping and the asset stays in the car like he should, we’re good.”  
He winced. “Well, obviously that whole asset-to-the-rescue thing was a clever ploy of your husband’s, trying to stay out of the limelight.” He pulled out his impromptu lockpicks, and opened the door. “He knocked me down, stole my shirt. I even had the scrapes on my hands to prove it.”  
“That’s so like him,” said Sarah, making a notation on the chart. “But he’d better stop, it might backfire someday. I’m very protective of my assets.” He gave her a So am I leer, and she smacked him again. “And you owe me a bobbypin.”  
“Don’t be petty, just because I did it faster than you.” He rubbed the spot where her hand landed on his face. “I think he’ll be doing his own dirty work from now on.”  
Ellie caught the remark as she walked into the room. “Who’ll be doing what dirty work?”  
“My husband,” said Sarah. “He tried to make it look like my asset here performed some heroic feats on my behalf, but it seems the rumor mill caught him out. Hard to fool trained CIA analysts.”  
Ellie put a hand dramatically to her throat. “Oh thank goodness those stories aren’t true. I’d hate to think of my poor brother here ever putting himself in harm’s way.” She impaled him with a laser-intense gaze. “Isn’t that right, Chuck?”  
He raised his hands in a show of fear, up in front of his face. “Mercy!”  
“Better. So. What are you calling this rumor of yours?”  
He dropped the pose. “Chuck versus the Heroic Rescue.”  
“No.”  
“Chuck versus the Daring Swoop?”  
“Uh-uh.”  
“How about ‘Chuck versus the three story fall and almost breaking his neck like the idiot Casey always said he was’?” said Sarah.  
“I didn’t—!”  
Ellie nodded. “Fine, but leave out the ‘Chuck’ part.” She looked around, at the beans and the impaled bag. “You want to tell me what you were just doing in here?”  
Sarah gestured at the open door. “Lock picking.”  
“I was seeing some spikes on the chart. How do you feel, Chuck? I saw you rubbing your face.”  
“She slapped me.”  
Ellie turned to Sarah. “Don’t do that.”  
Sarah squelched a sudden impulse to salute. “Yes ma’am.”  
“Yeah, Sarah, stick to the script. Ahh-ah!”  
Ellie grabbed Chuck’s chin and pulled his head around, so she could look carefully at his eyes. “Anything else?”  
“’Omeone’s ‘inching by chaw!” Ellie let go. “And I have a bit of a headache.”  
“Since when?”  
“Since the door.” Sarah made a note.  
“Let me know if it gets worse.”  
“Sure.” Chuck rubbed his jaw as his sister left. “I’ve gotta get some male authority figures in my life.”  
“What was that, Chuck?”asked Sarah from behind him.  
He turned. “Nothing, sweetie.”  
“Good. Come here.” She tossed him a staff to match the one she held.   
“Didn’t Ellie just tell you not to hit me?”  
“Unscripted, Chuck. Which this isn’t.”  
He held his weapon away from his body. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sarah.”  
She spun her staff casually. “Now you’re insulting me, Chuck.”  
He smiled weakly. “I’m not gonna win this one, am I?”  
She gave him ’the Eye’, and gestured with her fingers, inviting.  
He calmed himself. He could be either Neo or Agent Smith in this scenario, and Neo got the crap kicked out of him. Taking a deep breath, he found his calm center and fla—  
***   
Beeping.  
Groaning.  
“Ellie!”  
“On my way!”   
He heard the thump, felt the light get brighter and then dimmer again through his closed eyelids. The bed shook and he knew this house had a doctor in it.   
“Chuck, look at me.”  
He obeyed, as he’d obeyed his sister all his life, and always would. “Oo, look. Stars!” he croaked. “Ready when you are, Raoul!”  
“Oh, no,” said Sarah.  
“Don’t worry yet,” responded Ellie. “Name the movie, Chuck.”  
“Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, of course.” Did she think he didn’t know his movies?  
Ellie smiled. “That’s my little brother.”  
“What…?”  
“No. Don’t try to talk. You tried to flash on the weapon skills and set off every alarm we have. I’m not sure why but I’m thinking some of your skill sets are linked to the data sets in the Intersect. We’ll have to figure out a way to stop you from flashing until I can figure out if that’s true, and which ones.”  
“The knives…”  
Sarah came closer. “Those are reflexes, Chuck. Muscle memory, no thinking required. But no cake baking, bricklaying, or playing doctor except for the old-fashioned way, okay?”  
He smirked.  
She whacked—patted him on the shoulder. “You know what I mean! And that includes the kung fu stuff. We’ll have to defend you.”  
Ellie nodded. “I was just writing a letter to your General, Chuck, telling her she’s going to have to rethink your protective detail.” She looked up at Sarah. “You take him home, keep him occupied with things that won’t make him flash. No news, no Rachel Ray, nothing like that.” She went back to her desk.  
“We’ll have to go out to dinner, Chuck. Give Casey a chance to be subtle. Then we can go home and watch Wheel of Fortune.”  
“Shoot me now.”  
“Don’t be silly, sweetie,” said Sarah. “Except for all the angst and celibacy, it’ll be just like old times.”  
“I know…”  
***   
“Surveillance all set up?”  
She took off his shoes, helped him get undressed. “Mm-hmm. Casey had it done while we were out. Mostly external, a few on the inside covering entrances and exits.” She tipped him into bed still in his underwear and tucked him up nicely. Then she went to her dresser and started unbuttoning her blouse.  
“And you believed them?”  
One sweeping of the bedroom for bugs later…  
“Told you.”  
She pulled the covers all the way up. “Believe me I will have a talk with Casey’s little boys tomorrow.”  
…“Hey Sarah.”  
“Yes Chuck?”  
“You know I never used the Intersect in here, right? No flashes of any kind.”  
“Really?” She rolled right. “Ellie did say…”  
He rolled left. “Oh, yeah.”  
***   
The next morning  
“Hey Casey,” said Chuck as he got into the car, none the worse for the wear after his experiences yesterday, “You’re looking all Grim and Reaper this morning. Didn’t you enjoy your talk with Sarah? I know I did.”  
“Stow it, Bartowski.” Casey glared at him like a snake that spent all night listening to crickets it couldn’t eat. “Thanks to your little stunt yesterday I just got assigned to your protective detail. It’s not bad enough I had to clean up after you for two years, now I have to clean up after the whole damned CIA.”  
Oh yeah, just like old times. “Look at the bright side, Casey.”  
Casey put the car in gear, watched his mirror. “What bright side? The only bright side this job has will be the muzzle flash as someone puts me out of my misery.”  
“At least you won’t be tending bar anymore. Until the office Christmas party, anyway.”  
Casey growled louder than the Crown Vic’s engine.  
Chuck smirked. “Welcome to government service.”


	9. Casey vs the Janitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last episode of setup for this series. John Casey is in need of a cover inside the CIA. Why not make him a janitor, right there with Chuck? Yeah, that'll work...

John Casey was a fraud.  
He was supposed to be. The identity of John Casey had been created for a purpose, for a specific job, and the Powers That Be went to a great deal of trouble finding a man who would be able to fill out that persona with the least amount of ‘leftovers’. Troublesome things, leftovers. Qualms, fears, second thoughts, anything that could sneak up from behind and ruin the career of a carefully constructed artificial person. Can’t have that.  
Not that greed or pride were much better, in the long run, but since their objects were all self-contained they were much more easily manipulated. The more their actual aims matched those of the Powers That Be, the happier everyone would be, but patriots of that sort were rare.  
So when Alex Coburn volunteered for advanced training those same Powers That Be practically turned cartwheels to get him on board with their highly selective program. Sure he had a family and a girlfriend, but if they really knew him they would understand, not that they would ever know. At least that’s what the Powers That Be told him. What he told himself. Alex Coburn earned himself a valorous and tragic death in combat, by not dying to serve his country.  
Thus John Casey was created, neither birthed nor hatched, his history curiously and endlessly malleable for the needs of the day. Only a few things were constant through it all, Reagan, Johnny Walker Black, good cigars, and his beloved Crown Victoria. And guns, lots of guns.  
“I know what’s bothering you about this mission, Casey,” said Chuck triumphantly. “You won’t get any chance to shoot things!” He raised his hands but hit the roof of Casey’s car and brought them back down again, shaking out the pain.  
Except you, moron. Since Chuck was the asset, currently under his protection, shooting him would be counter-productive. Casey considered grunting, but decided not to. Most people took his grunts as he intended, a shield to discourage conversation. The nerd interpreted it as a language, compiled a dictionary, and just kept talking. Little freak even spoke Klingon! Like his little freak CIA buddy, Bryce freaking Larkin, long may he rest in peace.  
Casey rolled his eyes, pretending to look in the rearview. The nerd didn’t have a dictionary for those yet.  
Besides, Larkin died for his country, managed to do something right. The kid showed some stones too, uploading the new Intersect when he had the world–and Walker–at his fingertips without it. But he knew the greater good when he heard it shooting outside the door, and did what he had to do, gave his life for his country. Casey understood that kind of sacrifice. Had to respect it.  
Didn’t have to like it. Not when their current ‘mission’ would have them toiling away in the bowels of the CIA building, cleaning up after the little pukes.  
Still, it could have been worse. Without Orion’s program to get the secrets out of his son’s head again, they’d all be stuck back in Burbank, selling Beastmasters. Casey smiled. He liked the Beastmaster, bought one for himself before he left, using his real credit card so he’d get the commission.  
Of course Chuck noticed. “What’s so funny? Remembering last night’s episode of ‘Explosions of the Rich and Famous’?”  
There’s a concept. He grunted his approval. Rich party-boy yahoos loved to blow things up. Probably pee their pants at the first hint of real danger. Not like Bartowski. “Just trying to imagine which’ll be skinnier, you or the mop handle.”  
Chuck snorted. “Like I’m ever gonna swing a mop.”  
“This may be a cover, Bartowski, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have to do some real work once in a while. Get ready for some blisters.”  
Chuck suddenly looked at his hands in horror, so soft and white. “My hands! They’re never gonna believe I’m a janitor with hands like these!”  
Casey grunted in amusement. “Relax. New runt like you, they’ll give you the toilets.”  
“You’re not cheering me up.”  
“Not trying to.”  
Chuck crossed his arms, frowning in silence. Casey smiled and drove on.  
***   
“So, you’re the two new guys they told me they were sending over?” The head janitor, whose nameplate said (strangely enough) ‘Dimples’, look over his two newest subordinates, dismissing Chuck almost instantly. Casey he studied as if mass equaled attention in some variation of tough-guy physics. Casey blatantly sized him up right back. Dimples pointed his cigar (not cuban) at Casey. “You I can probably use. I don’t think we have coveralls small enough for your partner here, though.”  
Casey smirked, but said nothing.  
“Still, I got some jobs where a small guy comes in handy.” He stuck the cigar back in his mouth, talked around it. “You okay wit’ dat, small guy?”  
Chuck shifted. “I’m okay with anything you can throw at me, Chief.”  
“Oh, a tough small guy. I like that. You can call me Dimples, tough guy.” He smiled. “Now take your bodyguard here and go ask for Muffin. He’ll get you squared away.”  
Casey started to snarl at the dismissal, both overt and otherwise, but Chuck turned and took his arm before he got past the ‘g’ in ‘grrr’. “Come on, bodyguard.”   
The touch of Chuck’s hand on his forearm distracted Casey from his outrage. “Hands.” The moment lost, he followed his charge out of the chief’s office.  
The outer room was full of racks, and the racks were full of boxes and other obscure and unknown implements of the janitor’s trade, but people were in short supply. Since they knew where the door was, they went the other way, past many racks and even into inner rooms. “Is it my imagination, Casey, or is there an awful lot of stuff here for being a janitor?”  
“You ever been a janitor, Bartowski?”  
“Mop-swinging and toilet-cleaning weren’t covered in the Nerd Herd handbook, no, but I’m guessing there’s a chapter or two in the NSA playbook you’ve memorized.”  
“Don’t laugh, runt. It’s a good cover. No one notices the janitors. Or the waiters.”  
“Or the bartenders. I get it, Casey.”  
“Yet you still talk about it. Is it genetic, or–?“  
A large black man stepped out of the shadows. “Can I help you gentlemen?”  
Chuck drew up short, a new reflex based on large people coming out of gloom. He tried to step back, restore his personal space, but Casey was right behind him and wasn’t feeling at all threatened. “Ahhh… we’re looking for Muffin, sir, Dimples sent us.” He stepped to one side.  
“I’m Muffin. You the two new guys we was told about? What’s your name, new guy?”  
“Actually, ‘Muffin’, that’s ‘Tough Guy’, according to Dimples.” Casey smirked at Chuck’s horrified glance. “What?”  
Muffin smiled. “Tough Guy, huh? I like that.” He pointed at Casey. “And what’s his name, Tough Guy?”  
Casey’s heart sank.  
“His name?” Chuck looked at him, that damned twinkle in his eye. Casey just knew the moron was going to do something stupid. “He’s, uh, he’s ‘Ladyfeelings.’”  
Muffin laughed, very loud. “Now I know why they call you Tough Guy.” He looked at Casey. “Semper Fi, Ladyfeelings.”  
Casey grunted. Chuck looked confused. “How’d you know…?”  
Muffin smiled. “Name like that, gotta be a Marine. Come on, gents, let’s get you set up.”  
***   
An hour or so later, a new janitor by name of T. Guy, according to the temporary name patch on his overly large coveralls, was slaving away at the toilets in the first floor men’s lavatory. He didn’t mind the work so much, Bartowskis tend to clean when they’re nervous and calling Casey ‘Ladyfeelings’ to his face was enough to make anyone nervous. He found the work calming, not that you could tell that from the yelp he let out when J. C. Ladyfeelings slammed the door open. “Get it in gear, Bartowski. Intersects don’t upload themselves.”  
“I’m almost done,” said Chuck, scrubbing harder.  
Casey sighed. “Leave the john, genius. You have real work to do.”  
Chuck stood, and gestured at the mop Casey had recently been swinging. “I thought you said this was real work.”  
“I lied. I do that.”  
Chuck quickly stripped off the coverall, and Casey handed him a nametag. “Wait, what are you going to be doing while I’m in there?”  
“What do you think, numb-nuts? Groups like Fulcrum are never really dead, and then there’s this Ring group Larkin mentioned. I’m going to be wandering the halls of Langley, in my spiffy new government-issued jumpsuit, waiting for you to tell me if there are any traitors betraying their country in their cubicles. Walker—I mean, your wife—is waiting down at the Farm for the same thing. You find it, we kill it.”  
“Or arrest it, right?”  
“With a mop handle?”   
***   
Someone knocked on the door. “Come.”  
Muffin entered the room and saluted. “You wanted to see me, sir?”  
“How are the new trainees, Muffin?”  
The big man slid smoothly from attention to parade rest. “Tough Guy is not at any of his assigned stations, sir, although several of them look like he was there already. I have Babyface trying to track him down now. Ladyfeelings is already on the third floor. At the rate he’s going he’ll half the facility done by lunch. You’d think he was in the Navy, not the Marines.” Muffin chuckled.  
Dimples didn’t. “He’s neither, Muffin. Ladyfeelings is really John Casey, of the NSA.”  
Muffin got very serious. “The burn-out?”  
“Didn’t look that way to me. He’s playing a subtle game, him and his boss.”  
“Tough Guy? His boss?”  
“I want to know why these two are sniffing around our territory. Especially Tough Guy. I pulled up a lot of NSA rocks and couldn’t find him under any of them. Must be some kind of super-agent.”  
“Casey could break him in half.”  
“Looks real, doesn’t it? Don’t forget, so do we. Find Tough Guy, and keep tabs on both. They can’t be allowed to know what the whole CIA doesn’t.”


	10. chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No knowledge of the interior of the CIA should be assumed. Not about to look up that stuff on line, thank you.

John ‘Ladyfeelings’ Casey was in the north stairwell when the special phone in his special pocket rang. “Hello?”  
“Kaleidoscope, prepare to go to local control.” The phone went dead.  
“I’m working now, I’ll call you back when I’m on break,” he said to no one. Putting the phone away, he paused a second to run his hands through his hair, incidentally managing to activate the ear bud he’d been wearing all day, just in case. Local control? Quick and dirty, and on the first day, too. He just hoped Bartowski was up to it. “Kaleidoscope local.”  
“Kaleidoscope, this is Eagle-Eye.”  
Casey grunted at all the nerd codenames.  
“I heard that.”  
He grit his teeth. “Roger, Eagle-Eye.”  
“Better. Head up stairs. Third floor.”  
Casey stopped. “Third floor? That’s Accounting.”  
“ We caught some cell chatter indicating a sudden high-value Ring op has been laid on.”  
Casey saved his breath for climbing. “In the chatter?” In Accounting?  
Chuck smiled, Casey could hear him smile. “Hey, I’m wearing headphones while I look at pictures. The Intersect works on sound, who knew? Or maybe that’s a leftover from the Fulcrum version I got stuck with way back when.” In spite of the trip down memory lane, Casey felt better. By-the-book professional Chuck just sounded too weird. “And here I thought the visual stuff was strange. Anyway, we caught a code ‘I’ on its way out the door.”  
“Code ‘I’? That’s an old Fulcrum code. I thought you said this was a Ring op.”  
Chuck the Analyst came back on the line. “Frequency and encryption are not consistent with known Fulcrum practices. The death of Fulcrum might have left the field open for the Ring, who wouldn’t otherwise have a need for code ‘I’.”  
Casey considered it, and agreed. “Even if the Ring had a new code of their own, their field agents might not know it. Meaning the code is very new—”  
“Or the agent is very junior.”  
“That would explain how they got stuck here.” Casey looked through the window, but saw no one.  
Chuck ignored that. If it didn’t go Boom! Casey wasn’t interested. “Northside cubicles. Name is Betsy Ross.”  
Taking the name of an American patriot in vain! “Diabolical.”  
Chuck knew his teammate. “If only that was the worst of her crimes.”  
“It’s enough. What do I say?”  
“I have no idea.“  
Typical. Casey yanked the door open. Knows just enough to get other people into trouble. He stepped into the janitor’s closet, to get the cart for this floor, just making his rounds. “What can you tell me?”  
“Hey, this is all new to me too, big guy. I’ll listen in, see if anything she says gives me another flash. Or maybe I should come up with a different word for flashing on sounds…”  
“Try ‘flush.’”  
“On second thought, flash is good.”  
“Heh. We’re gonna have to change that callsign of yours. Instead of Eagle-Eye maybe you should be Graboid.”  
“All right, who are you and what have you done with my friend John Casey?”  
“Just goes to show you don’t know everything about old Ladyfeelings, do you, Graboid? I happen to like that movie, especially the monsters. Silent killers.”  
“I would have thought you’d like Gummer.”  
“Gummer was a wimp. And the operative word is silent.”  
“Uh, Casey, you do realize this is radio, right? I can’t exactly offer guidance with emphatic gestures.”  
“Don’t worry, I’ve seen those gestures before. Now go silent, already.” Casey pushed the cart out into the hall before Chuck could reply, making his way quickly and steadily around the block of cubicles, gathering trash bins. Eventually he got around to the north side. When he got to the cubicle marked ‘Elizabeth Ross’ he acted surprised to find someone inside on their lunch break. “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting…Sorry to disturb you, Miss…” He made a show checking the name again. “Ross. Elizabeth Ross, I guess that would make you Betsy Ross, I kind of like the ring of that.”  
The woman put down the book she was reading, a copy of Hamlet, and looked up at him suspiciously. “Do I know you?” She touched the desk to turn her chair, and suddenly Chuck gasped in his ear.  
“Oh, ow! Ah…Uncle Bob…knee surgery…gotta go, this really hurts…” The bud went silent in Casey’s ear,  
leaving him alone with the Ring agent in her lair.  
Through it all he kept a straight face, a reflex he was glad to have. “Does the rabbit know the falcon, or the hawk, stop to ask it its name in mid-swoop? I don’t think so.”  
She frowned at him. “Falcon?”  
Heh. Thought so. Ring agents didn’t have Chuck’s knack for original call signs, and they all wanted to sound cool. “Or any other bird of prey. I’m not really married to the metaphor, I’ve heard them all so many times. One guy showed some originality, paraphrased Shakespeare.”  
That got her interest, as he’d expected. “Shakespeare knew his warrior-kings. Which play?”  
“Merchant of Venice.”  
Her eyebrows rose.  
“The quality of Casey is not strained, it falleth as the gentle box of hammers from Heaven.”  
She burst out laughing. “Oh my god…!”  
He smiled too. “Well, it was better than a summer’s day.”  
“You…don’t talk like a janitor.”  
Like a Ring accountant would know what a janitor sounds like. “Excuse me?”  
“You should talk less, no one will believe you.”  
Casey grunted.  
She pointed. “Exactly, like that. Much better.”  
“Feels funny, though. Don’t see how I’m expected to communicate much by grunting.”  
“Give it a try. And I suppose you want my trash can, to complete the ensemble?”  
He grunted an affirmative.  
“See? Much more the thing.” She reached down and brought up her own can. Before she handed it over to him she added a last item, looking like a sealed birthday card. “I was going to give this to someone, but I don’t like him nearly as much as I like you.”  
Casey smiled, taking the can by one edge. “Uncle Bob’s bum knee acting up again?”  
She released the can to him, and he took the bag, card and all. “Hamlet, huh?” he asked, as if just noticing the book she held. “I like that book, everybody dies.”  
“It’s supposed to be a tragedy.”  
“What’s tragic about it? A dithering idiot and his incompetent murdering family? Please, wipe them out.” Casey raised his hand, thumb up.”‘To be or not to be? Not to be.” He clicked his thumb down, like clicking a pen, or pressing a detonator.  
“Clever.”  
He took a little bow. “That’s the Schwarzenegger version.”  
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that one.”  
“Google it from your safe house. The CIA caught your ‘I’ code, the original appointment would have been an ambush.”  
“I wondered why you were so early.”  
“Yeah, well, you’re gonna be late if you don’t get a move on.” Casey had to get both of them out of there before her real contact showed up.  
She grabbed her bag and stood. “I think I’m going to take a late lunch, a long one.”  
“The longer the better. Get off the grid, and stay off it. We won’t be meeting again.”  
She left, moving calmly to somewhere. Casey continued his rounds to the closet and returned the cart. “Graboid, this is Kaleidoscope.”  
“There, you see, Casey, Graboid and Kaleidoscope really don’t go together. If we’re gonna go with this whole ‘giant underground predator’ motif, we really need some new call signs across the board. How do you feel about Dustbowl?”  
“Try ‘Dirtnap’, numb-nuts.”  
“Okay! Way to think inside the box! And Sarah can be Perfection, of course.”  
Heh. “Of course. Do you care if I got the package, Graboid?”  
“I assumed you got it, I mean, you’re Casey, I mean, Dirtnap.”  
“Well, thanks for that, Graboid,” said Casey Dirtnap under his breath.  
Chuck heard it anyway, but contrary to public opinion, knew when to keep his mouth shut, or in this case, change the subject. “What did you do with the Ring agent?”  
Casey shrugged, not that Chuck would see it. “By now she should be halfway out of the state, if she has any sense. And she does have sense.”  
“You let her go?”  
“She thinks I’m Ring, dumbass. She’ll go to her safehouse, and eventually she’ll go back to the Ring, and when she does the tracker I dropped into her purse when she wasn’t looking will lead us right to them.”  
“Smooth.”  
“It’s not my first evil conspiracy, you know.”  
“And here I thought you liked her.”  
“Don’t insult me, Graboid.” Only the need to keep his voice low kept him from snarling. “She’s a traitor, and I don’t like traitors. I can and do occasionally respect them. She had wit and intelligence. Too bad she’ll be dead soon, but that was her choice.” He opened her bag and took out the package.  
“Why will she be dead soon?”  
“Sooner or later someone’s bound to catch up to her, and both sides will believe she’s a traitor when that happens, and all the Shakespeare in the world won’t save her from that.” He put the trash into the trash.  
“Shakespeare?”  
“Well, you couldn’t give me a code phrase, so I had to fake it. Plus I’m a good guesser.” Silence met his declaration. “What? I’m not a robot.”  
“Good to know. Not hatched, not a robot.” Chuck sounded a little distant, like he was making notes. “You like Shakespeare, Dirtnap?”  
“Yup. He knew how a soldier thinks. His St. Crispin’s Day speech ranks among the purest poetry the world has ever known.”  
This time Chuck did make a note. “I only know Hamlet, myself.”  
“I like Hamlet too.” Casey studied the handwriting on the envelope, her fake uncle’s name in neat cursive script. He wondered what the handwriting analysts would have to say about it.  
“Really? Why?”  
“Everybody dies.” He tucked the envelope with the intel inside his special pocket, next to his special phone. Everybody dies.”Signing off now, Graboid.”  
“Call Base for pickup, Dirtnap. Graboid signing off.”  
***   
The man came to full attention, as bearers of bad news always have. “Sir, I must report our mission was unsuccessful. We failed to obtain the package, and Miss Ross is no longer in the building.”  
“That’s not good news, Babyface,” said Dimples. “The value of this package was made quite clear to all of us. Do you know who has that data, if we do not?”  
“It was received by a man in a janitor’s uniform, matching the description of Ladyfeelings, sir. Shall I have him brought in?”  
Dimples was strongly tempted, but—“No, no. Let him think we suspect nothing, for now. I’m much more concerned with Tough Guy, his control. Reacquiring him must be our highest priority.”  
“It will be done, sir. We will not fail.”  
“We have the Intersect within our grasp, Babyface. We must not fail.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to go to plan b, on his very first day. Typical.

Casey was getting really tired of swinging his mop, so the trill of an incoming voicemail from his special pocket was more than welcome. He knew what it was, or at least should have been, and pulled it out to verify.  
EEOL. Casey grunted in appreciation, deleted the text, and tucked the phone back into its hiding place. A message in an unbreakable code on an untraceable call from an encrypted phone. Should be safe enough. No one told Casey the code but no one had to, that was the beauty of it. An enemy couldn’t overhear a secret that was never spoken.  
And they wondered why he grunted so much.  
So Eagle-Eye was Off Line. About time. Bartowski must not have informed Base that they’d changed their call signs. A tiny screw-up in the scheme of things, but it felt good to have something to razz the kid over while he scrubbed toilets in the first floor men’s.   
Most people thought John Casey was just obnoxious. Casey preferred to think of it as ‘training by ordeal.’  
***   
Sarah was in a hurry, so she drove more slowly than usual, even though her Porsche was well known to the highway patrols hereabouts. Or it had been. She’d been gone two years, after all, and she may have fallen off the unofficial list of People Not to Mess With. Probably not, men tended to remember her. She had no time or desire to find out.  
Base had called to alert her hours ago to the operation her husband was running, on his first day on the job, even though she was at a remote location. A high priority op, in response to a Ring op of equally high priority. Casey and Chuck, alone. His very. First. Day.  
She shorted a class, and skipped a meeting. They’d forgive her. Or not. She didn’t think about it much, she was operating on instinct now. She’d call it a hunch, but she wasn’t big on hunches. More of an itchy feeling she got when words like ‘Ring’ and ‘Chuck’ appeared in the same sentence.  
Now she was considerably more than halfway from here to there, places where speeds were not measured by aircraft but by more conventional, down-to-earth means. She had no time to play games with the police today. When her phone went off she wasn’t about to pull over to answer it.   
“Telescope, we have a situation.”  
She smiled, but for all the wrong reasons. Pressed her foot down, for all the right ones.  
Bring on the planes.  
***   
Chuck checked a second time that the access into the Intersect area was closed, and shut the closet door. Gratefully he took the bag off his head and put it in the drawer of the desk in the plainly furnished office, where it would stay until he would need it tomorrow. There wasn’t supposed to be any surveillance but then he wasn’t supposed to get kicked out of Stanford either, or be working as a janitor as a cover for his real work. If there was one thing life taught him it was that life rarely went as it was supposed to.  
He checked the monitors by the door. Only someone passing by at the wrong time could see him step out of that room, so he had to make sure no one did. The section of hallway on the other side was covered by only two cameras, which were looped with a view of the empty hall whenever he used the door. As far as the rest of the world was concerned this room was never used.   
***  
Slightly more than halfway to the first floor men’s, where Casey was supposed to reacquire Bartowski and get him back into his cover, his phone went off again, not the trill of a text, but a regular call. “Hello?”  
“Kaleidoscope, we have a situation. Our courier reports that the package has been intercepted.”  
Casey almost snarled. “By who?”  
“Unknown at this time, Kaleidoscope. We have a description of a large man, African-American–” Casey rolled his eyes at the politically correct terminology. Are people really that afraid of words? “—and dressed in a custodian’s uniform.”  
Muffin? Which was perhaps jumping the gun a little, as Muffin was simply the only black janitor Casey’d seen so far. He’d seen quite a few today, none close, just coming within range of his situational awareness and then out again. Now that he thought about it, he realized that he’d seen only a few janitors, over and over. Keeping tabs on him. “On it.” He shoved the mop and bucket into an alcove and promptly forgot about them.  
“Telescope has been notified and is en route.”  
Heh. Walker’s probably been en route since the op started. Time for plan B.  
***   
“Casey,” called Chuck softly, as if his bodyguard was somehow hiding his large frame inside the first floor men’s somewhere. No bodyguard. No janitor’s outfit to put on over this suit.  
Time for plan B.  
***   
No knock this time. “Sir, we have reacquired Tough Guy.”  
Dimples switched the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other in relief. “Excellent news, Babyface. When and where?”  
“Sweetcheeks spotted him in the Westside cafeteria, dressed in a suit, wearing a nametag that said ‘Charles Irving.’”  
Dimples frowned. “Not an alias I’ve ever heard of. I’ll have to run it through the db, see if it’s a cover anyone’s used before. Was Ladyfeelings anywhere in sight?”  
“Negative, sir. He’s has been under continuous surveillance as per your instructions.”  
Running feet in boots warned him, and Babyface turned as another man slammed into the door jamb, panting. “Sir, Ladyfeelings is no longer on station.”  
“You two, bring in Tough Guy. Now.”  
***  
First thing Casey had to do was find Muffin. There could be other black janitors but start with the one you know. The guy could even be innocent.  
Wouldn’t that suck?  
He raced to an interception point, glad for his cover for once, and its janitor’s keys that let him take stairs unavailable to ordinary folks. Hopefully Muffin would go back to Interiors Maintenance rather than try to drop the package himself. It was the only hope they had.  
He left the stairwell, walking quickly and—yes! Reagan was in his Roadster and all was right with the world! “Hey, Muffin,” he said, as casually as a slightly out-of-breath person could.  
“Ladyfeelings.” Muffin sounded surprised, but he stopped, that was the important thing. “I thought you’d be on the roof by now.”  
If he meant to put Casey at ease with some kind of feeble joke, he failed dismally. All Casey got was the knowledge that they had indeed been watching him. “I would have been, but I went by the mailroom and found that I’d lost my card. A Get Well card for my Uncle Bob.” Muffin wasn’t ready for the comment, and Casey was watching his face.  
Then Casey was hitting his face.  
Muffin wasn’t called Muffin for nothing, and hit back.  
Neither man was big on finesse. They hit. They took hits. They absorbed pain and bulled on through, until one of them could take no more.  
At least, that was the theory.  
In practice, Casey couldn’t wait that long. Whether there were any other traitors in IM or not, he was low man on the totem pole. Muffin could get away simply because the others trusted him more. And he had to get back to Chuck. No way Walker would show her face around the two of them.  
Suddenly Muffin stumbled forward and sagged in his arms, struck from behind. Casey eyed his aider and abettor, a slim brunette with large sunglasses covering half her face. “Nice outfit, Walker.”  
Sarah Walker even smiled differently when she was in character. “Had it in the car, just in case. What’s his deal?” Together they dragged Muffin into a stairwell and Casey cuffed him to the railing. “I’ll let you know when I find out myself,” he said, frisking the other guy. Paper crinkled. The envelope Casey sought was intact, and he handed it off to the only courier he could trust on sight. “Take that to Base.”  
No! I did what I had to do. “I have to get to Chu-Eagle-Eye.”  
Casey sighed. Ladyfeelings. “If Bar-the moron did what he was supposed to do he’s perfectly safe on the other side of the building, probably gorging on soda and junk food and watching videos on his phone. He can wait, but something they want this badly won’t.”  
Sarah snarled. Duty. Bad enough she couldn’t run, or do anything to draw attention to herself. Now she couldn’t even kick Casey’s ass if something happened.  
Casey shut the door after her…and ducked. Muffin’s large fist parted his short hair but hurt nothing more sensitive than that. “Out of my way, Marine. I have a date to keep, with a hot brunette.”  
Casey grinned, and clenched his hand. “She’s taken, but she’s got five brothers I’d like you to meet.”  
***   
Sensors in the wall detected the beacon in Sarah’s earring, and the automatically looped footage of an empty hall took over on the monitors no one was watching anyway. The hot brunette slipped into the empty office and triggered the mechanism, free at last to hurry.  
Minutes later, a hot blonde left.  
***   
“Muffin did what?” No reply. Chuck looked around, trying not to let his anxiety show. Sure he was supposed to wait in this public area for pickup but eventually someone was bound to notice that his ‘coffee break’ was going on just a little too long. Plus he was running out of money and the vending machines were really expensive.  
Someone entered the room, and as always he flicked his gaze to assess the possible threat. Crap. A janitor, taking the bag out of the bin. Chuck immediately got up and headed for the coffee station. If he was lucky the guy would just take the bag and leave.  
“Hey, Tough Guy, you look good in a suit.”  
So much for luck. “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” Chuck scooped up some of the plastic knives as he turned. Sure the CIA valued him and was more than willing to protect him, but they didn’t think he was as absolutely necessary as they used to, and they didn’t know that the Ring was in the building. His wife did, though, and he just needed to hold them off until she arrived.  
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Irving.”  
A second voice. I definitely should have pushed for the analyst job. He turned suddenly, flicking out plastic cutlery into reaching hands almost as fast as he saw them.  
“Ah--!”  
“Garammit to hell!”  
Chuck dashed for the door, tripping over chairs and sliding across table tops, right into the arms of a third man waiting for him. He dropped, leaving the guy holding his suit coat as he slithered out of it. He fell backward between the man’s legs and kicked him in the ass, pushing his opponent forward and himself toward the door at the same time. A year and a half as the Intersect had taught him just so much about running away.  
“Chuck!”  
“Sarah!” No, she was not in the hallway. She was in the cafeteria with three large angry men. Spiffing! With no time to flash, he just took the last knife in his hand, scrambled to his feet and stabbed it at the back of the man he’d just kicked.  
Of course the guy turned around and literally caught him in the act. “That’s cheating,” he said as he started crushing Chuck’s wrist to powder.  
Chuck almost didn’t care. “And your two friends double-teaming a woman isn’t?”   
The big guy turned to watch. “I like cheating.” He pulled a tube out of his pocket, flicked off the cap at one end. A blowgun, low-tech equivalent of a tranq pistol that didn’t look like a tranq pistol, wouldn’t set off any of her built-in alarms. All his two friends had to do was get Sarah to hold still for one second. He raised it to his mouth.  
The pair split up, moving to either side of her.  
Sarah paused to assess the threat, unaware of the true danger.  
Chuck wrapped his free arm around his captor’s head and swung his legs up, spoiling his vision, balance, and aim. As they fell to the ground together, Chuck realized that distracting his wife at that moment might not have been the best idea.  
The big guy struggled to push Chuck away. “Get off me, stringbean!”  
Chuck struggled to hold on. “Stringbean? What kind of an insult is that?”  
His opponent let go of his wrist and shoved Chuck off him with both hands. He rose unharmed, but the blowgun in his hand wasn’t so lucky, so he dropped it and curled his hand into a fist. “Old school.”  
Chuck raised his hands, elbow hurting, head swimming. He looked at his arm, and the blowgun dart sticking through his shirt. Damn. “That’s…so unfair.”  
He fell into darkness, the last thing he heard the sound of his wife’s voice, calling his name.


	12. St. Crispin's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first overt intrusion of Shakespeare into this story, but his influence is felt throught.

He which hath no stomach to this fight,  
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,  
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;  
We would not die in that man’s company  
That fears his fellowship to die with us.

I’m not going anywhere.

John Casey tested his bonds covertly, not wanting to let any of his captors know that he was awake when an advantage might be found in their ignorance. The guy who tied these knots must have been a Boy Scout, though.

It hadn’t been Muffin, that was for sure. He knew he’d broken at least one of the guy’s fingers, not that a little thing like that had kept him down. He just led with his left instead of his right, until his reinforcements arrived. 

Ironic that Casey’s job now was to hold out until his reinforcements left. Casey appreciated irony. For a brief second, he wondered if Shakespeare had ever written a play about Horatius at the bridge. That would have been a text worth studying!

Except that Casey much preferred taking the battle to the enemy, not making dramatic stands, last or otherwise. This whole protective thing chafed at him a bit, not his thing at all. He’d walked away from a fiancée to do battle. Now, here he was.

Hooray for irony.

 

This day is call’d the feast of Crispian.  
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,  
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,  
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

“How’s the hand, Muffin?”

Muffin dropped his hand from the salute, looked at his taped fingers. “Doc said it was a clean break, sir, should heal up in a couple of weeks. Guess I’m off mop detail, though.”

“I could give you the toilets, except we have Tough Guy covering those. Bet you’d love to give him a swirlie, eh?”

“The thought never entered my mind, sir.” 

Dimples grunted a dubious acknowledgement. “Good job soldier.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I lost the package.”

“You were up against superior numbers, and struck from behind. No fault of yours.”

“Thank you, sir. Do we know where the package went?”

Dimples frowned, and sat down heavily. “We do not. We had eyes on your ‘hot brunette’ from the moment she left the stairwell until this point–” Rather than fast forward through the footage he tapped a map of the building “–where she vanished. Probably looped footage, which means a confederate in the building.”

“Tough Guy, sir?”

“Most likely. He was spotted on the west side, I’ve dispatched Babyface and Sweetcheeks to get him. As for the brunette, the only woman in that area with even a passing resemblance was Miss Walker.”

“I didn’t know she was in the building. Did anyone see her enter?” Anyone else, that’d be suspicion talking. Muffin was just a fan. 

“No. Does this surprise you?”

Not at all. “Is it true she got married, sir?”

How did I ever guess? “Yeah, some super-agent named Carmichael. Lotta strange rumors going around about him. Jumps off of buildings to say hello, that sort of thing.”

Muffin grinned. “Sounds like her type.”

“Maybe not, I heard some things,” said Dimples dismissively. Enough chit-chat. “You got anything else on this brunette, maybe we can track her down?”

“Just a few words. ‘Chu–‘, ‘bar’, moron, and Eagle-eye. It sounded like they were all referring to the same person.”

“Tough Guy again, I’m betting. We get him, we’ll probably get her too. Okay.” Dimples stood again. “Let’s go talk to Agent Casey.”

 

He that shall live this day, and see old age,  
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,  
And say “To-morrow is Saint Crispian.”

“All right, wake him up.” Dimples sat down, facing the prisoner.

At the command, an underling stepped forward and threw the contents of a glass of water in Casey’s face, carefully aimed so that the spillage would go down his shirt rather than onto the floor. Just because they had an abundance of mops didn’t mean they wanted to use them.

“Rise and shine, sleepy-head.” Dimples smiled. “I’d say ‘on your feet, soldier,’ but you know what they say about giving orders that can’t be obeyed.”

Casey adopted an innocent expression. “Just a humble janitor here, boss. What do they say?”

Dimples leaned in close, spewing cheap-cigar breath into his victim’s face. “Don’t do it.” He sat back, and Casey allowed himself to breathe again. “Just a janitor, eh? Didn’t know the 82nd Airborne had a janitorial brigade.”

“Only for mopping up, boss.”

Dimples laughed, and his men allowed themselves to smile. Casey did neither, waiting for any kind of opening to present itself.

“You’re a funny guy, Ladyfeelings. It’s really gonna hurt me to have to torture you.”

“Not as much as it’ll hurt me, I’m thinking.”

Dimples nodded. “That’s true, you got me there. Of course, you could just tell us what we want to know and save us making a mess.”

“But you have all these wonderful mops…”

Dimples sighed. “Okay, fine. Have it your way.” He nodded to his subordinates. “Take him to the Ring.”

 

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,  
And say “These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.”

This was the strangest torture Casey had ever experienced.

For a minute there, when they’d mentioned ‘the Ring’, he’d gotten his hopes up. Then he found out they meant an actual ring, a clear space well in the back of Interiors Maintenance, defined by a circle of ordinary folding metal chairs.

Then, once they’d carried the chair with him on it into the center of this space, they untied him, and stood back. When he stood up, he could hear someone take the chair away but that was all. Warily, he eyed the circle of men, waiting for someone to bring out the trays of drugs, and other implements of a more corporal nature.

Dimples pointed. “Pebbles, you go first.” Everyone sat.

Gotta give him credit, the kid was good, but John Casey was an enthusiast. The fight didn’t last long, but victory didn’t come as easily as it should have, either. His previous fight in the stairwell was slowing him down.

His adversaries were all fresh, expecting him to fall to one of them, sooner or later. That was their mistake.

John Casey fought for a lot of reasons. He fought because he liked it. That carried him through the first couple of bouts, until the pain overwhelmed the pleasure of combat.

“Who are you?” they would ask.

He only had one answer. “No.”

John Casey fought for work. He’d trained in a variety of martial arts in his youth, but he preferred the less disciplined styles. When it was no longer fun it became work, and he dragged out his formal training, settling into the angry center that Chuck had helped him to find. He had to protect Chuck, that was his job. Anger got him past the pain, skill kept him from getting any more. Until he began to tire. No amount of anger could carry him past that.

“Who are you?”

“No.”

John Casey fought for time. Time for Chuck, time for Sarah. She would protect Chuck when he could not. He wouldn’t be able to much longer.

“Who are you?”

“No.”

John Casey fought for honor. They’d have to kill him first, because John Casey wasn’t fighting for his life.

“Who are you?”

“No.”

Dimples stood at last. He eyed John Casey with sad respect. “Just tell me who you are, why you’re here, and I’ll make this quick and easy.”

Casey turned to watch out of the eye that still opened, and gestured him on, smiling.

Dimples came on. A lightning jab to the elbow paralyzed Casey’s arm. Another to his throat left him choking. A knee broke some ribs and spun him about. Another jab to the back of his knee brought him down hard on the wooden floor.

“Who are you?”

Casey could not speak, but shook his head in mute denial.

Dimples eyed his fallen opponent. “You’ve done well, Major Casey of the NSA, but it ends now.”

All for nothing. No. Not for nothing. Casey rose to one knee, forcing himself to move around the pain. “My name…is…Ladyfeelings.”

Dimples nodded. “Ladyfeelings it is.” He dropped the fighting stance and held out his hand.

 

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,  
But he’ll remember, with advantages,  
What feats he did that day. 

A janitor named Showtunes distributed coldpacks to all the walking wounded in the room, starting with Casey. He accepted his with thanks. “So you knew all along? Your DDO was under orders not to tell anyone who we were, or even that we were here.” He took a sip of his fruit juice, and made a face at the bitterness. No one else seemed to notice.

“Yeah, well, that’s how we knew. Nobody is just assigned to this detail, Major. I hand pick my men. Only the best of the best are chosen for this duty.”

No wonder he went along with it so easily. Casey winced, putting the coldpack in place. “Cleaning toilets?”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it? Gentlemen.” Every man in the room snapped to attention, even the ones who could barely stand. “We are Interiors Maintenance, Major Casey.” Casey saluted automatically, and they settled into their former positions. “We defend this building and the people in it from all attacks, both within and without. No biological or chemical attack has ever succeeded–”

“What about that anthrax scare?”

“Staged. By us, so no one would notice that we were the only ones not affected. We also deal with internal espionage. We caught that phone call this morning–”

“Miss Ross?”

“Imagine our surprise that you caught it first and fastest. That was Tough Guy, I’m guessing. He’s been quite the busy little bee today.”

They didn’t know the half of it, and Casey couldn’t tell them. “We didn’t know–”

“No one knows, Major. No one is allowed to know, unless they’re one of us. Ladyfeelings.”

Casey smiled. “I see.”

“What happened to the package?”

Something landed on the table with a thump, and all eyes turned to see what it was. The flashbang exploded, blinding them, although Casey could hear the sound of multiple shots being fired. Darts of some kind. He felt a prick in his own chest, followed by a pins-and-needles sensation that quickly faded.

“Exactly what I want to know, gentlemen,” said someone, presumably the tosser and shooter. “The prickling you are feeling will some become something much more unpleasant, to be followed by a slow and prolonged death. There is no cure, but if you answer my question now I will give you a quicker death before I leave.” He held up his gun, in promise.

Casey tried to rise, but the pain of his injuries stopped him.“Who the hell are you?”

“I am Falcon, Mister…Ladyfeelings. Ah. I believe Miss Ross mentioned you, before I gave her ease.”

“What’s…in the…package?” panted Dimples.

“Construction documents and expense reports for something called an intersection chamber. Not my business really, but my superiors will be so glad that I have found out why we’ve had so much trouble getting information out of this building.” He pulled a tube out of his pocket, started screwing it onto his gun. “Useful information, that is. We’ve gotten quite a bit of the…less helpful sort. Now gentlemen, before you become too agonized to talk and I am forced to leave you: where is my package?”

“Right here,” said a voice in a different part of the room.

The gunman looked away, just in time to see a heavy and clumsily-made ceramic ashtray as it flew towards his head. They both fell to the floor. 

Dimples and crew rose, in no apparent pain. “Good job with the ashtray, Pebbles.”

“My daughter’s ashtray?” said another man–Lilywhite, if Casey recalled correctly–in mild distress. “Tell me it’s not broken!”

“Relax, Lily, we couldn’t break one of her craft projects if we tried. Everybody get more juice, just in case. Especially the Major. It’s got all sorts of anti-toxins mixed in, that’s why it tastes so bad,” he commented to Casey. He looked down at the stunned Ring agent. “Monologuing ploy gets ‘em every time.”

“You call it what?” asked Casey, drinking his bitter juice gratefully.

“The monologuing ploy. You pretend to be defeated, and the bad guy rants about his evil plot while making grandiose gestures.” He toed the silenced gun to one side, and Lilywhite picked it up. “Better than torture. It works more often than you think.”

Casey grunted. “Sounds like something from a comic book.”

“Hey!” said Showtunes sharply. “Don’t go dissing The Incredibles, it’s a great movie!”

“You obviously haven’t seen Finding Nemo yet.”

“Here we go,” said Dimples to Casey, sotto voce. Raising his voice, he said, “Save it for break time, gentlemen. In case you haven’t noticed, we still have a spy to take care of.”

Casey looked down at the semi-conscious man. “How do you ‘take care of’ spies if you’re so secret?” 

Dimples shrugged. “We’re the Janitors. We clean up other people’s messes. Kill him, Pebbles.”

“Sir.” Pebbles stepped forward, grabbing the spy by the throat. With one hand he lifted the man into the air. Falcon choked and gurgled, all his weight hanging off his neck, suffocating slowly. 

“Showoff,” muttered Dimples. “Speed it up.”

Pebbles hit him, a right cross that took his head where his neck couldn’t follow, and the man sagged. Showtunes was right on hand with a wheelbarrow, and Pebbles dropped the body into it. “Next stop, the Pit of Flaming Doom.”

“I’m guessing you mean the incinerator,” said Casey. 

“Of course,” said Showtunes, “But it’s more fun my way.”

“You mind if I search the body first?”

Dimples shrugged and waved him on. “Knock yourself out.”

 

This story shall the good man teach his son;  
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,  
From this day to the ending of the world,  
But we in it shall be remembered-  
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;  
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me  
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,  
This day shall gentle his condition;

Ugly ashtrays called for ugly cigars, and Dimples had shared out his personal stock with his latest crewman, i.e., Casey, who couldn’t honorably refuse, when Babyface walked into the room, an unconscious Tough Guy slung over his shoulder.

“Took you long enough. What the hell happened to you?”

The big man gestured over his shoulder, the one without Chuck on it. “She did.”

He stepped aside, revealing Sarah Walker/Bartowski/Carmichael as he put his burden carefully in a chair. She didn’t look happy. All the men in the room sat up straighter. 

“You had two other guys with you,” said Dimples. “Where are they?”

“They’re in the infirmary,” she replied.

“What happened to ‘em?”

“I did. My protectee took a trang dart meant for me. I returned the favor.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Not as sorry as they will be, when they wake up.” She looked at John, leg braced, cuts bandaged, bruises purpling. “What the hell happened to you?”

“They did.”

“What?”

Everyone flinched. “We, uh, we made him swim to the top of Mount Wannahockaloogie and swim through the Ring of Fire.”

She looked enlightened. “Ah. Finding Nemo.” She’d seen the movie at least once with Ellie and Devon. They didn’t even have any children yet but they were still vetting the movies she’d be allowed to watch. “The Fight Club version.”

They were all quick to agree.

“And does any one of you nice people want to explain why my protectee here was getting hazed in the cafeteria, of all places?”

Eyes shifted all around.

“Agent Walker,” said Casey, with curious emphasis, “It’s complicated.”

She considered this. “Does it affect our mission?”

Casey smiled. “Not anymore.” He blew a ring of foul-smelling cigar smoke at her and she stepped back. “Take Tough Guy home. I want to hang here for a while.”

“Can you hold on a second? I got someone who’d love to meet you.” At her quick nod, he turned and raised his voice. “Hey, Muffin!”

 

And gentlemen in England now-a-bed  
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,  
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks  
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.


	13. Larger Than Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So far all the episodes have been setup, introducing characters and places and stuff that I thought I might need. At this point we start in on the actual episodes, starting with episode 2, Three Words. I am imagining the plot of that episode and how it would play out given that everyone has moved. So here we go.

Lub. Dub.  
Lub. Dub.  
The woman who would be known to the world forevermore as Sarah Lisa Bartowski (if the world knew what was good for it) lay in bed, head on her husband’s chest, listening to his heart beat, slow and steady. So calming.  
Slower at rest than it had been, sign of improved health and general fitness. Steadily pulsing, powering the little bio-electric tracking chip she’d injected into his shoulder after he’d disappeared one too many times. Now she’d never lose him again.  
So calming.  
And a little creepy, too, as Chuck had pointed out on various occasions. She got that, she really did, but what with the whole spy thing and him being (at the time) an irreplaceable national resource she didn’t see that she had a lot of choice in the matter. Probably most other wives would be bugging their husbands to make sure they really were working late at the office. Now that was creepy.  
Her hand, on his chest. His ring, on her hand. A gold circle, deathless and endless. So not calming. The ring terrified her, some days, sometimes. What had she been thinking?  
Well, nothing, really. If she’d had a single rational thought in her head after what she’d seen, she couldn’t remember it, just an all-consuming urge to run, as she had before. That was her life, running away, leaving all of her messes behind her. Then Operation Bartowski kept her pinned to one place, and Chuck made her face up to the things she did and had done. She wasn’t a good person. She was barely a person at all.  
She didn’t deserve him. Was he blind? Was he clueless? What could he have been thinking when he repeated after the man, “With this ring, I thee wed”? Surely one of them should have been thinking! Surely one of them could have seen that normal and Sarah didn’t mix.  
Chuck stirred in his sleep, tightened his grip on her, and relaxed. 1-2-3-4, he tapped out on her back. Status?  
1-2-1-2, she tapped back. Green.  
She trembled. She could do this. She would do this. Failure was not an option.  
Thank God for Orion.  
***   
Sarah stood in the kitchen, chopping vigorously, humming along to the song currently playing on her phone, occasionally stopping to push the glasses back up on her nose. Whatever reflexes glasses-wearing people used to keep them in place, she didn’t have them, and the stupid things kept slipping. It didn’t help that these ridiculous commercial-grade knives had an edge that felt like they’d tried to cut butter and lost. Is this the best they could do? Her throwing knives were better, and those were only sharp at the points.  
She looked to her left. “Dammit!” She scrambled to grab her phone, pausing the song and shutting down the app.  
“Hey hon, what’s up?” Chuck swung into the now silent kitchen.  
Sarah spun in place, hands (and phone) behind her back. “Good morning, sweetie. You do know that today is Saturday, don’t you? I was expecting you to sleep in.”  
Chuck gave her a suspicious look. “Since when do you wear glasses?”  
She sauntered over to him. “Since these were delivered a few days ago. They have a little screen built in, and a micro-cam to send images.”  
He removed them from her face. “And does this explain the mysterious new bar of organic soap on the top shelf of the medicine chest?” He put them on himself. “Why, yes, yes it does.”   
“You weren’t supposed to notice that.”  
“You shouldn’t have taught me to increase my situational awareness, then.” He took the glasses off. “You watch me sleep?”  
“I like to watch you sleep.” She liked to watch him, period.  
“I like to watch you sleep, too. In my arms. While I’m there next to you. Not with high-tech anti-terrorist gear.” He folded the earpieces, and hung the lenses from the low neckline of her lingerie. “What’s behind your back?”  
She pouted, and brought her hands around front, holding plates of sliced vegetables. “I wanted to make you a special surprise breakfast, like that time in Meadow Branch.”  
His face lit up with joy. “Oo, special.” He took a slice of red pepper. “What’s the occasion?”  
“Nothing,” she said, smiling back. “Just the first weekend since you started your new job, I thought it was a good enough reason to celebrate.”  
“Mmm, good thought .” He stepped forward and kissed her softly above, hands roaming lightly below. “But about that celebration. Can breakfast wait…just a…little while?”  
***   
Sarah slid out of bad the second time that day in a much better mood. She really liked sex (at least with Chuck), liked being the center of his world in the most obvious way possible. It sometimes frightened her how much she liked it, it seemed so huge, so much more than she had ever known, could ever have imagined. At those times she would compare it to how much she hated seduction assignments, the next hugest thing she knew, and she felt better. Whatever she, they were doing, at least it wasn’t that. So much more than even the simple pleasure-taking she’d long thought even great sex was. Addicting.  
“Where you going, Pretty Lady?”  
She shivered, and moved faster. “I am going to finish making that super-special, extra-high calorie breakfast. You’re going to need it.” First she went into the bathroom and moved the micro-cam, before turning the shower on. Then she left, still dressed and glasses on. Chuck got up and looked in the bathroom. The cam was sitting on the hamper, focused on a–gah!–very cold shower. That gave him an idea.  
A few minutes later, he dropped a towel over the cam and said loudly, “A shower! Great idea!”  
Her voice rose in horror from the kitchen, “No, Chuck, don’t—!”  
He splashed the water a bit, and yelled, “Ah, now that’s refreshing!” He removed the towel.  
Sarah’s bright laughter rang from the kitchen, when she looked in the glasses and saw the inflatable snowman he’d gotten out of their Christmas supplies, positioned under the spray.  
God, she loved him!  
***   
The phone rang on the table by the bed. His side, the Bartowski phone. The Carmichael phone was on her side, and only she answered that one. Part of the Carmichael legend. Chuck moved to answer it, since Sarah wasn’t going anywhere for a while. “Bartowski. Hey, Dimples.” Sarah tightened her grip around his waist. “That bad, huh? I’m sure you are. Yeah, okay, I’ll be there in a bit. Bye.”  
“You have to go?”  
“There was a spill in the photo lab, no one on duty is signed off on the Haz-Mat stuff and since it’s my duty station and I am signed off, well, that just makes it a no-brainer for them.”  
She recognized a cover story when she heard one. “Should we be concerned?”  
He sniffed, since shrugging wasn’t really an option in that position, and put the phone down. “Doubt it. Not every flash I have is about an evil conspiracy right around the corner, you know. It only seemed that way back in LA. Although they do seem to have an awful lot of evil conspiracies there…”  
“It’s Hollywood, Chuck, what did you expect?”  
“Are we talking cause or effect here?”  
“We’re talking about you leaving your naked wife in bed to go off and save the free world yet again.”  
He rolled over, throwing off the covers, muttering under his breath.  
“What was that, sweetie?”  
“I said, James Bond never had to put with this crap.”  
She whacked him on his broad muscular back. “James Bond is a little boy’s fantasy of what a spy’s life should be. You, on the other hand, are a grown-up woman’s fantasy of what a spy really is. Get it?”  
He looked back, brown eyes on blue, smiling that smile he only smiled at her. “I think so. Will this be on the test?”  
The sheet shifted as she stretched. “You better believe it, buster.”  
He took a deep breath and looked away. “Okay, exiting ‘sexy banter mode’ now. Otherwise I’ll never get out of here.”  
“Don’t think of it as going away, think of it as preparing to be welcomed back.”  
“La-la-la-la, I’m not listening…” He grabbed some clothes at warp speed (early-TNG warp speed, when they could do, like, warp fifteen) and fled.  
***   
Chuck stared at the recently tied knot on his sneakers, completely ignoring the (rustling!) rustling sounds coming from (being made by his wife in) the bedroom. There had to be more to being a couple than sex in the bedroom and video games in the den, but God help him, only missions were coming to mind and he knew that was just wrong! Ellie and Devon were no help, they did most of their couple-ing at the hospital and he really didn’t mean it the way that sounded!  
He was so not ready for this. Whatever could his father have been thinking?  
Luke, trust me.  
Okay, wrong character, same mentoring, fatherly relationship. But he was gonna run to the Millennium Falcon now and not even think about putting his proton torpedoes down the shaft dammit! He can’t even not think about it without thinking about it.  
Work! Wallet. Car keys. Out the–  
Beautiful red-headed supermodel ready to knock on his door. Definitely not in the program. For a second he just stood there staring, trying to get his brain in gear.  
She got there first. “Chuckles?”  
Right. That’s where he knew her from. “Carina,” he shouted, “Oh…ha, uh, Hi! What a surprise!”  
She stood there and surveyed his tall, lanky form, once, twice, and a horrible slight smile played across her lips. “Yes. Isn’t it?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carina doing her best to stir the pot.

_Beautiful red-headed supermodel ready to knock on his door. Definitely not in the program. For a second he just stood there staring, trying to get his brain in gear.  
She got there first. “Chuckles?”  
Right. That’s where he knew her from. “Carina,” he shouted, “Oh…ha, uh, Hi! What a surprise!”  
She stood there and surveyed his tall, lanky form, once, twice, and a horrible slight smile played across her lips. “Yes. Isn’t it?” _

Chuck made no move to get closer and she made no move to get further away. “You’re an awfully long way from home, Chuckles. Your mother know you’re staying out this late?”  
“No, I, uh, I live—we live here now. Sarah and me. Us. Together.”  
“You must be better in the sack than I thought you were, for Sarah to play finders keepers like that.” She took a step closer to him and the door. “I always favored the catch and release method myself.”  
He grinned, a sickly sort of thing. “That’s…certainly…why are you here, exactly?”  
“I’m not allowed to visit my nearest and dearest? You know how it is, another successful mission, time to kill, yadda, yadda. So I swing by my bestie’s place and find she’s moved, and without sending me a forwarding address.”  
“We only just got into town ourselves. But I’m sure if you go check out some of your blind drops in Jakarta, you should find an update—“  
“You’re cute, Chuckles. Not bright, but cute. How long are you in town for?”  
Chuck raised his left hand before she could make an offer he’d have to refuse.  
“Oo, the ring ploy. Bold move, Walker. Usually we save this sort of thing for marks. I just got married for the seventh time, myself.”  
“Congratulations, we’ll send a toaster. Just don’t call her Walker. She’s kinda touchy on the subject.” He wiggled his finger, as if she might have been talking about some other ring. “It’s Bartowski now.”  
“Sure it is, Chuckles, sure it is. You did make sure she signed her real name to the certificate? No wait, that’s right, you don’t know her real name, do you?” God, that look, if I could just bottle it… “You must be such a Boy Scout. Usually the ring ploy is a guy’s—”  
“I, uh, I have to go to work now, Carina, not that it hasn’t been a blast, because it really hasn’t…”  
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Chuckles,” she said in low tones. “You’ve got squatters outside.”  
“That’s just our detail…”  
She poked him in the chest. “I knew you guys were on a mission! No way would Walker be here in the boonies with a Boy Scout and a watchdog when she could be having drinks with a Sultan.”  
“No.” Chuck’s face fell, his voice flatlined. “No drinks, no Sultans. Just us.” He turned toward the empty room. “Sarah, your bestie’s here.” He stepped around his unwelcome guest and went straight to his car.  
She watched him go, feeling vaguely like she’d kicked someone’s puppy. That didn’t go like I’d hoped. He drove away as fast as a residential speed limit would allow, the carload of squatters following. What? The detail was for him—?  
Sarah came out of their room, belting her robe tightly. “Chuck?” She knew her man, his voice, and whatever wasn’t right was most definitely wrong.  
“You just missed him, Blondie. He and his detail just left.” Carina took in her hostess’ appearance. “Or did you? You go back for seconds or just keep going after firsts?”  
“What do you want, Carina?”  
“Geez, Walker, what’s got your panties twisted? I would have waited for you to put ‘em on straight.”  
“It’s Bartowski now, I know Chuck told you.” Because he told everybody.  
“Go on, pull the other one, Walker.”  
Sarah made a fist with her left hand, and held in front of Carina’s nose.  
“Crap, you’re serious.”  
“As serious as cardiomyopathy. What…did you say…to my…husband?”  
Nothing that she would care to repeat to his for real wife. “Nothing, just chatting. I was wondering how come you guys were out here in the sticks—”with a detail “—and I may have put my foot in it, as usual. You know me.”   
“Yeah, I know you, Carina.” Enough to know that wasn’t all she said, and enough to know that that was all she’d admit to. She dropped her arm, unclenched her fist with some difficulty.  
Carina circled her, looking for…something. “So?”  
Sarah pivoted, unwilling to allow anyone, especially Carina, at her back. “So, what?”  
“So what are you doing out here in the sticks, Walk-Bartowski? Makes it hard to just have a girls night out.”  
Sarah smirked. “I’d rather have a boys night in.”  
Carina grinned. “Oo, he has been good for you.”  
“You don’t know the half of it.”  
“No, I don’t, so tell me all about it.” Carina threw herself into the nearest chair. “Last I saw, you two were making cow eyes at each other over the Grand Canyon of CIA regulations, and now here you are married so fast my invitation hasn’t even had time to arrive in the mail!”  
Sarah chuckled. “Talk to Ellie if you want an invitation. She was a bit…upset…that Chuck and I got married in a Nevada border town with some professional witnesses. I think she’s going to hit us with a surprise church wedding just so she can have pictures.”  
For a second Carina lost herself in a vision of herself as a bridesmaid, but shook it from her head. Focus, Red. “Why so fast?”  
“’The Grand Canyon of CIA regulations.’” Sarah sketched air quotes. “We’d finally gotten past it, could finally begin to think about being together, and then life came along and put it back in front of us again.”  
There had to be a very large and very classified story behind that. “So you carpe’d the diem, so to speak.”  
“Middle of the night, actually. We had only a few hours, the most Casey could give us, before he had to report to Beckman. That town in Nevada was the best we could do.”  
“So you really married him? Whose brilliant idea was that?” Maybe the ring ploy was Chuck’s, and he wasn’t such a Boy Scout after all.  
Sarah rubbed the ring with her thumb. “You want some coffee? This is my third time out of bed this morning and I still haven’t had any.” I really can’t have this conversation without coffee. She walked toward the kitchen.  
Carina leapt from her chair and followed. “Oh no you don’t, Sarah Walker Bartowski. You don’t get to use sexy banter to deflect my questions.”  
Sarah yawned. “What sexy banter?”  
“’Third time out of bed.’ First of all, good work. Second of all, quit stalling.”  
“Stalling about what?”  
“Walker!”  
Sarah spun in fury, just as good as coffee in its own way. “Bartowski! It’s Bartowski, now and forever, until the day I die!” She held up her hand. “I wasn’t forced into this. I wasn’t tricked. I may spend parts of each day in sheer terror now that it’s done but do not think for a moment that I am not completely on board.”  
Carina smiled, her needling having had its desired effect. “Good to know. So it was his idea, then?”  
Sarah shook her head, suddenly aware of what she was saying again. “No. One life-altering decision per year is enough for any man, and Chuck was over his quota that day, believe me. Made up for lost time in a big way. There was…someone else.”  
“Not Casey…”  
Sarah looked at her friend like she’d grown an extra arm. “Casey? A wedding?”  
Carina’s face went as red as her hair. “Okay, not my best theory…”  
“You’ve had worse ideas, but mostly because you were drunk,” said Sarah. “Maybe you need this coffee more than I do.”  
“Stalling again.”  
Sarah stared into the coffee canister, scooping up the grounds and pouring them back out again. “We panicked, we were totally freaking out, both of us. Everything slipping through our fingers like sand because Chuck had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time—”  
“And do the right thing.” Carina sighed. “No good deed goes unpunished. Maybe that’s why I do so few of them. So this ‘someone else’ got you moving toward matrimony?”  
“We certainly weren’t coming up with plans of our own, and really who’d believe it? My best idea was to get in one good real solid non-cover kiss before the roof fell in on us! I couldn’t even say ‘I love you’ to the man and I’m going to marry him?” Finally she put the grounds in the cup where they belonged. “I don’t even believe it somedays.”  
“Hence the terror. Word of advice, don’t tell Chuck.”  
“Do I look stupid?”  
“In that robe?”  
A phone rang, not either of the ones in the bedroom. Sarah ran for her purse. Carina moved to follow but a firmly pointed finger from Sarah kept her planted in the kitchen. “Walker, unsecure.”  
Carina turned on the water in the sink and finished making the coffee. “Insecure too.”   
***   
Sarah heard the water and stepped a little further away. “I’m secure now.”  
“Telescope, this is Lensman. We’re your husband’s backup for his sudden trip.”  
“Go on, Lensman.”  
“We’re outside your residence now but we don’t see your vehicle.”  
“You’re what?” Carina turned off the water at her shout, and Sarah turned to her. “You said Chuck left with his detail!”  
Carina didn’t shrug. “He left, and he said it was his detail.”  
“Did he look at them? Observe them in any way at all?”  
Why on Earth would that matter? Confusion and the look on her best friend’s face left her hesitant rather than aggressive, her usual façade. “He was, um, he was, sort of, glaring daggers at me at the time.” Sort of like what Sarah was doing right now.  
“Lensman, do you have his frequency?”  
“We do, Telescope. Commencing tracking.”  
“Keep me informed.”  
“Will do, Telescope.”  
As Sarah closed the phone, Carina asked, “Frequency?” For once she wasn’t talking about sex.  
“Bio-chip. I’m getting dressed. Make the coffee. Don’t cause any more trouble than you already have.”  
A bio-chip in an analyst? “What the hell is he?”  
“Don’t ask,” said Sarah from her bedroom. “This assignment has been above God’s paygrade from the beginning, and if you’re lucky you’ll walk away knowing nothing more than you do right now. It’d only serve you right if I read you into this mess but that’s not my call.”  
Flashing lights drew Carina’s attention to the front windows. “Uh, Walker?”  
“Bartowski!”  
“Fine. Bartowski. You’ve still got a policeman standing outside your door.”  
***   
A/N That’s never good.


	15. chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now back to our kidnapping in progress. Please don't let all the humor get in the way of the angst.

_Flashing lights drew Carina’s attention to the front windows. “Uh, Walker?”  
“Bartowski!”  
“Fine. Bartowski. You’ve still got a policeman standing outside your door.”_  
***   
“Answer it, will you? Without your usual havoc, please.”  
“First untwist, then put ‘em on, Blondie,” said Carina far too loudly, and then she opened the door. He was male, he was in uniform, he was blushing.  
“Mrs. Bartowski?”  
She leaned against the doorframe, eyeing him up and down. “Why, no, Officer, I’m delightfully single.”  
“Is Mrs. Bartowski available, Miss Single?”  
“Oo, I like a man with wit.”  
He leaned in close. “Do you like a man with handcuffs? ‘Cause if you interfere with me in the performance of my duties one more time, I’ll show you those too.”  
She made a slight shrug with her eyes. “Maybe next time.” She turned her head back toward the room. “Hey, Blondie, haul ass!”  
Sarah marched out of her bedroom fully dressed, pulling her hair back into her usual ‘if you get in the way of my peripheral vision one more time you will regret it’ ponytail. With a well-placed elbow and boot she displaced Carina (“Hey!”) and took her position. “Can I help you, Officer…Davis? I’m Mrs. Bartowski.”  
“Your husband is one Charles Irving—?”  
“Better not be two, that’s bigamy.”  
“Shut up, Carina. Yes he is, officer. And he drives a Matrix.”  
“With or without a big ‘Nerd Herd’ decal on the side?”  
“Shut up, Carina.”  
“You know,” said Davis, “I could arrest her for you, if you’d like. Just part of the service.”  
Sarah smiled, but shook her head. “No, thank you, Officer. She’s family. We’ll torture her ourselves.”  
“See how we take care of each other?”  
“Shut up, Carina,” said Davis. “We found your husband’s car—”  
“When and where, officer?”  
“Ten minutes, that way.” He gave her an address that was only about five minutes away, but then, she probably drove a lot faster than him.  
“Good,” said Sarah, although it was anything but. “Here. Take this card, call the number, and when they answer, say ‘Dustbin.’ They’ll help you file your report appropriately. Have a good day, Officer.” She smiled and closed the door, leaving officer Davis on her porch, wondering what the hell just happened. Then the garage door opened, and Sarah drove out in her Porsche, already going faster than the posted speed limit.  
Davis stared. The Porsche Blonde! He ran back to his cruiser. “The blonde!” he said to himself, disbelieving. “ I met her, spoke to her!“ He propped up his clipboard and grabbed the radio. “The guys at the precinct will—” He saw the card, clipped automatically on his board. Dustbin. “—never hear about this.” A man with wit, indeed.  
***   
“I still say you should have let me tranq him.”  
“Sorry, Carina, my need to have this incident kept quiet trumps your need to have a cute man in uniform forget your first meeting.”  
“Ha, you thought he was cute too.”  
“Shut up, Carina. I’ll make it up to you. When we find Chuck, I’ll let you kick their asses.”  
“Whose asses?”  
“The guys who took Chuck, of course. And they’re gonna need it too.”  
“That fake detail. He must have made them. To get where he was when he did, he had to be using an evasion pattern—”  
“Which they defeated anyway.” A very good driver? Multiple cars? Who could say, but they’d taken her Chuck, always a mistake. She pressed a button on her GPS. Heading north by northwest. “Dammit.” She hit speed dial on her phone.   
“Kaleidoscope, secure.”  
“That’s Casey’s voice…”  
“Telescope, unsecure.”  
“What the hell happened, Telescope?”  
“Eagle Eye’s been intercepted by at least one group of unknown hostiles. Signal reads heading north but I’ve got a stop to make first.”  
“You mean to tell me that an unknown group of bozos managed to blow through all our layers of security and get away with the target? How’d that happen, Telescope?”  
“Carina showed up.”  
A grunt of disgust. “That’ll do it.”  
“Are you in motion or not?”  
A pause. “Yeah, I’m in motion. I hope you left her handcuffed to a bed. In Prague.”  
The two women shared a smirk. “That’s a negative, Kaleidoscope.”  
“Oh hell, she’s there with you, isn’t she? What’s the plan? Ejection seat?”  
“Wrong car.”  
“Tranq her?”  
“The trunk isn’t very big, and it’d take too long to jam her in there by myself. I’m thinking we may have to read her in on the project. Let her make hash of someone else’s plans for once. It’s her skill set.”  
“Bartowski, that’s harsh. Can’t you just shoot her?”  
“That’s a kindness?”  
“It is to us.”  
“You’re forgetting the paperwork.”  
“Oh, yeah.” He sighed loud enough for them to hear him over the phone. “Fine, I’ll call Beckman.” Sarah stabbed the ‘End Message’ screen before it went black on its own.  
“Wow, Walk-Bartowski, you’d put me in the trunk after you knocked me out? How thoughtful.”  
“The least I could do, and a whole hell of a lot better than that carry-on I had to squirm out of that time.”  
Carina shrugged. “You’re more flexible than me, and it saved you airfare, so I don’t know what you’re bitching about. Doubt I could do it today, Mrs. Domestic. It’s supposed to be carry on, not forklift on.”  
“I am not fat!”  
“You’re fatter, and that’s what matters.”  
“This is the way Chuck likes me.”  
“And whatever Chuck wants, Chuck gets?”  
“Of course.”  
“So why aren’t we riding to the rescue?”  
“I have to disable the rocket launcher in the Matrix, and the self-destruct. The kids in this neighborhood are monsters.”   
***   
Chuck woke up in darkness, felt his own breath. A hood, and not one with a thin strip in front that he could see out of, either. Tied to the chair like he was, he wasn’t going to be taking it on his own either.  
A man with a strong accent asked, “Who’s this fella? I sent you lot out to bring me my Sheila back!”  
A man with a Midwestern accent answered. “She was going into a house, boss. We figured she knew him, we could probably make a trade.”  
“How’d you figure?”  
”We saw them talking. He was coming out, she was going in. He smiled at, he frowned a bit, and then he walked away like he’d been insulted.”  
“Yeah, he knows her all right. What’s this?”  
“His picture, boss. I took it while he was dazed from the crash. This way we don’t have to take the bag off his head.”  
“But I like taking the bag off, the way their eyes bug out in fear—!”  
“I know you do, boss, but remember, Americans do those things on TV for dramatic moments, not because they make sense. You take the bag off, we have to kill him, and we don’t want to kill him.”  
The boss sighed. “No, I suppose not. Good thinking. This whole operation was supposed to be under the radar. Damn that Sheila for mucking it up!”  
“Damn Sheila.”  
“Don’t you talk that way about my wife!” Flesh hit flesh. “Now go establish a perimeter, or whatever it is you guard types do.”  
Chuck heard lots of feet in motion away from him, and a chair being drawn closer. Someone was sitting in front of him and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who. He kept his head down, in case the bag came off by accident. “You shouldn’t have hit him, you know, he was just following orders.”  
“It was an oath, not an instruction.”  
Chuck shrugged. “Thanks for not wanting to kill me.”  
“No worries, mate. It’s her I’m after, but the boys are right, she’d have been too hard to grab. You know my little woman, then?”  
Chuck shrugged. “A little, She’s really my wife’s friend, but after what she said today, I don’t know how long that’ll last.”  
Accent-man laughed. “She’s got a razor tongue, doesn’t she?”  
“You sound like you approve.”  
“A razor tongue can be useful, in my line of work, as long as I keep it pointed at someone else.”  
“And when there’s no one else around?”  
“I wasn’t plannin’ on makin’ conversation, mate.”  
Trophy, distraction, bedwarmer. No wonder Carina had such a low opinion of marriage. “Perhaps if you’d talked to her more you wouldn’t be in the trouble you’re in.”  
Accent-man’s voice got rock hard. “And what do you know about the trouble I’m in?”  
It was a lot easier to put up a brave front when he couldn’t see all the blustering. “Kidnapping random strangers isn’t most people’s default reaction to a parking ticket, ‘mate.’ She either is or has something you want back.”  
“Yer a smart one, ain’t ya? Yeah, I want her back. You’re right I should have talked to her more but…I wanted her to love me for me, not let a little thing like my job get in the way of it. You know?”  
“So you lied to her, got her to marry you under false pretenses, not to mention the wedding night—” no way Carina would pass up a chance at a wedding night “—hoping that all this water under the bridge would help her choke down the fact that you commit crimes on a major scale for a living? Is that about right?”  
“You know, put that way it sounds kind of dumb.”  
“Believe me, baggage like that they want to know about beforehand. It’s not exactly carry-on, is it? She’d have to rent a forklift to get that down the aisle.”  
“Yeah, well, it’s the baggage I’m after. I gave that girl everything, everything! The keys to my castle. And what does she do but take the first thing she can carry out of my vault and high-tail it to Witness Protection!”  
“Ah, so you want it and her to come back before she does something she can’t back out of.”  
“I can’t lose her, mate, I just can’t. You seem like a nice guy and all, and I’m really hoping I don’t have to torture you, but you have to understand my position here!”  
“I know exactly what you’re going through. You have my complete sympathy.”  
“Wish me luck, then?”  
Sure. “Good luck.” For all the good it’ll do you.  
A heavy hand clapped Chuck on the shoulder, almost knocking him out of the chair he was tied to. “Thanks, mate.” A brief pause. “I hate these stupid phones, my fingers are too big for the numbers. There we go.” Another brief pause. “Hello, smooshie?”


	16. chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carina attempts a rescue.

_“And whatever Chuck wants, Chuck gets?”_  
“Of course.”  
“So why aren’t we riding to the rescue?”   
***  
The Porsche was humming, doing what it was made to do, look good, go very fast, and get there in the nick of time.  
The Blonde driving the Porsche was humming, too.  
“If you’re going to insist on humming off key, can you pick a different song, please?” said Carina. “That one’s depressing.”  
Sarah jerked out of her focus. She’d picked the song for its power and passion. “What’s depressing about it?”  
“Don’t you listen to the words?” Carina doubted it. The iPhone in Sarah’s kitchen had the volume turned way down.  
“I find music I like, I keep it,” said Sarah. “I don’t listen to the words anyway.” She liked to move to it, not sing along. Chuck was the singer. She loved it when he took showers, not only because she liked to imagine him naked but also because he sang in there and she liked the sound.  
A phone rang, with the chorus of ‘Girls Just Wanna have Fun’. Carina put her musical concerns to one side and answered, putting it on speaker.  
“You know I hate speakerphones, smooshie, anybody can hear.”  
Carina adopted a strange, air-headed voice. “But smoosh, I’m driving, and they have that whole ‘hands-free’ thing now.”  
He immediately backed down. “Alright, alright. You got my bag?”  
“Right beside me, smoosh.” She patted Sarah’s leg. “I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me for running away? I was just so surprised! But really, what’s a girl to think when you tell her something like that?”  
“I was hopin’ you’d think I loved you and wanted to give you everything I treasure in my life,” he grumbled. “But I can see where I might have made a mistake in that. Can you forgive me, smooshie, for not telling you about my little transgressions?”  
“Of course I can smoosh.” Carina blew a kiss into her phone. “I realize now you were only trying to protect me.”  
“Er, yeah! I lead a hard life, and I wanted to keep you safe. I love you.”  
“I love you more, smoosh. But really, Karl, you didn’t have to kidnap my friend’s husband like that!”  
“Well it wasn’t my idea, was it? I wanted the boys to snatch you, but you didn’t have the bag and he was right there. Tell you what, you meet me, with the bag, as agreed, and I’ll let you punish the lot of them.”  
Carina actually seemed intrigued by the possibilities. “Oh, you say the sweetest things, smoosh.”  
“And if you don’t meet me, or you don’t have my bag, I’ll let them punish him.”  
“Now, smoosh, there’s no need for such talk, none at all.”  
“I know there isn’t.” The screen went black.  
Carina made sure all the functions were shut down. “That was very strange.”  
“You’re telling me? I don’t know which of you made me want to throw up more.” Her phone chimed. “Telescope, secure.”  
“What’s your ETA, Telescope?”  
“One minute.”  
“Think you can bring DEA up to speed in one minute? North Star gave the go-ahead.”  
“I’ll use small words, Kaleidoscope. Carina, you’ve heard of the Intersect project?”  
“Who hasn’t?”  
“Eagle Eye’s the CPU. How’s that, Kaleidoscope?”  
His impressed grunt carried over the speakers. “I’ll inform North Star.”  
“Good God,” said Carina, honestly shocked for once. “You don’t suppose Karl knows, do you?”  
Sarah laughed evilly. “When they feel the ton of bricks about to land on them they might figure it out, but by then it won’t matter.”  
Twenty seconds later they were standing in a cloud of dust in a fenced-in parking lot. Casey was already there with a group of men armed to the teeth. “Glad you could make it, Telescope. Bad guys are in there—“ he pointed to a building on the other side of the fence “—we’ve cut holes to flank. You take the Lensman twins that way, I’ll take my guys this way, incursion in thirty.”  
“Where’s Eagle Eye?”  
“Don’t worry, we’ve tapped their camera, got eyes inside. They’re centered. There’s only a perimeter, unfortunately, not even enough for a training exercise, so this shouldn’t take long. Go.” They went, mostly silent except for a muttered complaint from Carina about high heels and gravel. No one cared. The hole in the back fence opened behind some debris, giving them cover as they crawled out to get the lay of the land.  
“Target spotted,” said Lensman One.  
“Target spotted,” said Two.  
“Crap,” said Carina.  
“Drop your—ow!” said the sentry, as Sarah’s knife sank into the back of the hand he had clamped around Carina’s throat. She dropped and rolled, allowing Sarah to finish him off with her usual dispatch.  
Carina stood, wiping the dirt off her hands on the crumpled lump of sentry. “You enjoyed that.”  
“Only a lot,” said the team leader. “I like having enemies I can fight.”  
“Yeah, you do.”  
The radio on the unconscious sentry’s shoulder squawked. “Unit two?”  
“Crap, we’re blown.” Sarah raised her own mike. “Casey, action now!”  
The two Lensmen fired, and their targets dropped like sacks of meat. The team sprinted across the lot as shots rang out on the far side of the building.  
“Nobody move or I blow his brains out!”  
Sarah risked a peek inside. The boss was right behind Chuck, a gun to his head, glaring at Casey’s men.  
“I have an idea,” said Carina, handing over her gun. “Take me hostage.”  
“Right.” Sarah grabbed her by her arm and dragged her through the door. “Not so fast, Stromberg!”  
“Smooshie!” He glared at Carina’s dishevelment. “Have they hurt you?”  
“Not really, smoosh.”  
‘Not really’ meant ‘some’. “You bastards!” He fired wildly at Sarah. She easily dodged but Carina took the opportunity to ‘escape’ and ran to her husband’s side.  
“Smoosh! You saved me!” She kissed him full on the lips, one hand holding him close while the other was outstretched. Finally she broke off.  
“Did you miss me, smooshie?”  
“Not a bit,” she said, hitting him with the brick Casey had put in her hand. He fell like a sack of meat, but still breathing.  
Sarah ran over, reaching before anyone else. “Don’t move or speak, Eagle Eye. I’ll cut you free but don’t remove the hood. Most of these people aren’t cleared for your identity.” Chuck nodded, and merely gripped her hand as she put her knives to work.  
Casey moved up a little more slowly. “What happened, Telescope?”  
“They had their SIC doing perimeter duty. Karl here called him right after we took him out.”  
Casey grunted in disbelief at the amateurishness that was causing them so much trouble. He looked over at Carina. “You know, we could have taken him out easily.” He wouldn’t have minded a chance to shoot something.  
Carina shrugged. “I know, but my way was more fun. And believe me, after that wedding night, he really needed to get hit in the head with a brick. Hey, do I get a cool cover name too?”  
“Yeah, sure, why not?” Casey looked at her dress. “How about ‘Microscope’?”  
***  
A couple of days later, Carina dropped by again for a surprise visit, and to get a proper read-in on the project that was soon to engulf every aspect of her life. At least Sarah hoped so. “No one told you to get in the car, you know.”  
On the way out, Carina paused by the door. “I have something for you, Bartowski. I’m not sure you’re ready for it, but I’m not sure you’ll ever be ready for it. For Chuck’s sake I’ll give it to you, but only on one condition.”  
“What’s that?”  
“You must listen to everything on this drive, in order. No weaseling out or stopping in the middle, got it?”  
_You think I’m a coward?_ “I promise.”  
Carina stared at her a moment more, then reached out, grabbed Sarah’s hand, and slapped a flash drive into it. “Watch it alone.” She turned and walked away.  
***  
Watch it alone, she says. Like Sarah ever wanted to be alone. She’d done the ‘alone’ thing, swallowed it until she almost choked on the stuff. Secrets and lies, she had no stomach for them anymore. But she’d made a promise. “Chuck?”  
“Yes?”  
“Would you mind…going to bed a little ahead of me tonight. Carina gave me some files and I promised her I’d review them.”  
He shrugged. “We can look at them together.”  
She shook her head, already regretting it. “No, she…she suggested I watch them alone. Believe me, if it’s something that needs to be shared I will share it. I promise.”  
“I’m gonna hold you to that.” It wasn’t quite a joke.  
She waited until the door to their room closed, then got out her laptop and headphones. Carina’d said ‘listen’, and the walls were thin. The drive had three files on it, none very big, labeled in sequence. She pressed the first one.  
A static image came onto her screen, and music played. She didn’t recognize the melody. Then words started appearing on the screen, lyrics to the song being sung.  
_“How can you see into my eyes, like open doors,_  
_Leading you down into my core, where I’ve become so numb…”_  
The music became more intense, and she knew the song now. She’d picked it for its power and passion. It’s words were too true, painful to hear, and she reached out more than once to stop the file, but she’d made a promise. Only that kept her in her seat, hands clenched white around each other as she forced herself to read the blurred words through tearing eyes.  
At last it was over, and Sarah was free to wipe the tears from her eyes before starting the next file. I hate you, Carina. Is this what you think I am?  
It was the same song, but not static. The music video panned in to a building, an apartment, a woman sleeping as life went on around her. It only got worse from there, images giving the words meaning beyond their mere definitions.  
An enemy she could fight.  
At last the nightmare ended, leaving her bolt wide awake and desperate for rest at the same time, her emotions bruised and torn. One file to go, but if it was like the last two she’d break a promise for the first time, and then she’d break the former friend who’d made her promise.  
With that resolve firmly in mind, she opened the last file.  
No music, already a plus. Homemade, too. A large hand blocked the screen for a moment, but the owner walked away and she could see an empty warehouse, and a man on a chair, his head covered with a cloth bag. Chuck.  
“You think she believed me?” She recognized the voice, the man on the phone, sounding much more human. Clearly he didn’t know the camera was on.  
“I would have,” said Chuck, his voice muffled, but even so a balm to her no longer quite so frozen soul, thank you very much Carina. “You sounded very fierce.”  
“Well I am fierce,” said the man in conversational tones. “I’m fiercely in love with her, and I fiercely want her back, and my bag. Do you think that came across?”  
Sarah almost laughed. He’s coming to him for advice! Chuck beat him while bagged and tied to a chair!  
“It’s exactly how I would want to sound if I thought I was losing my wife. Carina showed me that.”  
“She did?” asked the man.  
How?, asked the wife.  
“This morning, Carina asked me how come my wife was out in the sticks with a Boy Scout when she should have been out in the world, dining with kings.”  
Sarah growled. She knew Carina’d said something stupid.  
“And she was right. That’s absolutely where my wife belongs, and I have no idea why she’s with me. She chose to be with me, and every day I lived in terror that she’ll change her mind, that she would realize her mistake, and go back to those kings and leave me and my girlish screams and absurd fear of needles behind here in the sticks, where I belong.”  
Sarah shook her head Nonono, tears streaming.  
“But then Carina came along, and what she said made me imagine a life without my wife in it, sir, and that frightened me more than anything I’ve had to face to get her in it in the first place. That wasn’t the end, just the beginning. She deserves the best, so I have to man up and become that, to be worthy of the priceless gift she’s given me. And I am not fierce, so I can only hope to sound like someone who is, if that time should ever come.”  
The big man clapped a hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “You just say that to her, mate, and you’ll never have to worry about sounding fierce. You’re a good man, Chuck, and I wish you all the best. I just have to get my missus back and I’ll get you home to yours.” He lifted a radio to his mouth. “Unit two?”  
Sarah shut the file.  
She crept into bed, thinking he might be asleep. She was never more grateful for anything in her life when she nestled into his side and felt his arm go around her. Hold me to that. You promised.  
1-2-3-4, his fingers pressed into her back.  
1-3-1-3, she pressed back. Yellow.  
His other arm came up. “Somebody needs a hug.”  
She held him tightly in response, even though she didn’t quite agree. I need you.


	17. Shiny Happy People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up where last episode left off.

Sarah couldn’t hear the sound of her alarm clock over the pounding of her heart, beating in the same panic-stricken rhythm that explained why the annoying thing (the alarm, that is, not her heart) did such a great job waking her up in the morning. She rolled over and smacked it, only then realizing that it wasn’t on. One of his jobs had given him the day off. The other one had decided that full daily uploads were perhaps not in his, which is to say, their best interests, and were experimenting with smaller, targeted data-sets. No need to get up early this morning.  
“Hey! Watch the arm!”  
Oh no. Chuck’s arm, wrapped so tenderly and lovingly around her at night, was now trapped beneath her flailing body. Even worse, she’d woken him up doing it. This was not how she liked her days to begin. “Sorry.”  
He closed his hand gently, softly squeezing the part of her body that had naturally fallen into it, not an expression of lust but of comfort. “Rough night? I can feel your heart pounding.”  
“That’s not the only thing you’re feeling.” She rolled back over, snuggling close. “Nightmare.”  
“Mission?”  
“Mmm-mm. I was killing Carina.”  
“Must have been a doozy of a bad dream.”  
“That was the good part.”  
***   
Chuck gestured at the screen with the videos playing, sound muted. Sarah didn’t need to hear any of it again. “I can’t believe she made you watch all this. I thought she was your friend.”  
“She is,” said Sarah, from her refuge in the kitchen, practicing her breakfast-making skills. “She said something she thought I needed to hear. Friends do that.”  
“Did you need to hear it?” Me, whining like a baby?  
She paused in her chopping. Razor edges and contemplation don’t mix. “I think…yes. I can’t imagine I would ever have listened to any of that on my own, and I don’t think it would have bothered me so much if it weren’t true, at least a little bit.”  
If he’d known they were recording the scene as prep for their incursion, he wouldn’t have said any of that, for fear that his comments would get back to her. As they had. He wanted to go back to sleep, so he could dream of beating up Carina himself. “I should have known you’d be riding to the rescue, kept my big mouth shut.”  
“Are you kidding?” she called. “You’re the hero!”  
“I was unarmed, tied to a chair, and had a bag over my head the entire time,” he snapped. “Explain to me how that makes me the hero.”  
She missed the snappage, focused on carrying his heroic meal out to the breakfast nook without spilling anything. “It was a hostage situation, lots of guns and violence in the air, but he lets Carina run up, kiss him stupid, and whack him in the head with a brick.”  
He sat down and started eating slowly, making sure to enjoy everything as per her explicit instructions. “Sounds to me like that makes her the hero.”  
She came around behind him and draped her arms over his shoulders. “Alright, so maybe you didn’t exactly talk about her, feed his delusion, and blind him to the truth on purpose, but it was the right thing to do and you did it. Do you really think Stromberg would have let her get anywhere near him if it hadn’t been for that?” Let Carina have that much. His little confession of total intergalactic love more than made up for it. The best lies have a hefty dose of truth in them.   
“Oh.” I’m Kryptonite-Man. “No, I guess not.” He forced a smile. I weaken my enemies to death. “Yay, me.”  
She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Absolutely yay, you.” She sauntered back to the kitchen, letting him get a good look at her lingerie-clad butt as she stripped off her apron.  
I’ve domesticated a goddess. Maybe it was for the best that he was locked in the most thoroughly insulated room on the planet during their missions. Unless… he thought with fading rationality, his gaze focused on the shifting material. Unless this is one of her seduction techniques and she’s using her feminine wiles to domesticate him which really made a whole lot more sense when he thought about it. Maybe it’s just as well she was locked out of the most insulated room on the planet during their missions. Between the view and the food he started to drool, but he shook himself out of it. “I really appreciate the, uh, yeah. Oh, boy. But… don’t I have to look at that thing they, um, wanted me to look at?”   
_Thud!_ Is not normally a sound-effect associated with aprons, but somehow Sarah managed it, as she dropped the frilly cloth item on the countertop. “Yeah,” she sighed. Then she smiled. “We’ll just have to make our after-breakfast delight an after-lunch delight instead.”  
“You’re insatiable!”  
 _No, I just don’t know what else to do._ She’d never had a life before. “Or, we could…go to a movie. Or a museum. A zoo. A baseball game.” She looked at him, sitting there dazed. “Cold? Warm?” Give me a clue here, Chuck. What do normal people do with their lives?"  
“You know, I have no idea. I grew up in a suburb of a city that wasn’t exactly famous for its museums and zoos. Unless you count the celebrities, I’m sure they feel like they live in invisible cages sometimes. I suppose if we’d had any dates that were either remotely real or not violently interrupted by international arms smugglers, we would know this stuff already.” Suddenly he stood and flung up his hands. “You know what. Screw normal. After I get done pinpointing this nuclear bomb, how about we go down to the CIA gym so I can practice deploying the Morgan’s awesome offensive capabilities, or maybe the range, where you can practice your gun kata some more.”  
She shook her head. _He’s so cute!_ “You realize they just made that up for the movie, right? There really isn’t a ‘gun kata’.”  
“I’ve seen para-sailing in movies, is that fake too?”  
“Just because some things in the movies are real—“  
Chuck clapped his hands to his ears. “La-la-la-la, I’m not listening, but seriously—“ He dropped his hands, walked over and kissed her gently on the lips “—it is so sexy that you actually remembered Equilibrium like that.”  
It was the only thing she remembered about the movie, because let’s face it, a gun kata would be a really handy thing for an assassin to know, but she decided not to point it out. Instead she leaned forward on the counter, aiming her cleavage at him. “You find that sexy?”  
“The Nerd-sexy of my people isn’t like your Earth-sexy, which…ah… isn’t to say that I don’t find you incredibly Earth-sexy too, but really we should get going before my tongue digs the hole I’m in any deeper…”  
“I do have better uses for your tongue.”  
He clapped his hands to his ears, running away. “La-la-la-la I’m not listening!  
***   
Nobody noticed them come in. Chuck’s Matrix was parked over by the Utilities entrance, the humble janitor called in on his day off to take care of something. Nobody cared what, no one paid attention to janitors, which is just how The Janitors liked it to be. Besides, right after the poor zhlub in a car too small for him came the hottest blonde in the building, in a car made to suit. Within a few moments, no one saw either of them any more.  
Down in Intersect Central, Sarah waited in Medical until things settled down in the room across the hall. “Ellie, can you do me a favor?”  
“One second.” Ellie checked a number of monitors and readouts, verifying that the data they’d gotten was the data she needed. “Okay, shoot.” She could analyze it later.  
Sarah handed over the flash drive. “Can you watch these, and tell me what you think?”  
Ellie took the drive and started the first file, pausing when she noticed her guest’s reaction to get her headphones and spare her the rest.  
“I think whoever gave you this is either a very good friend or a cruel and ruthless bastard.”  
“Bitch.”  
“Okay, bitch. Or some unholy and incomprehensible combination of the two.”  
“You’d be right.”  
“I don’t think I’m going to like this person. I won’t have to meet her, will I?”  
“Unlikely, but she’s on the team now and she is a friend of mine, so you never know. One thing I do know is that you’re definitely going to have to work at it to like her.”  
“Why?”  
Sarah made a show of checking her watch. “Right about…now.”  
“What the hell? Is that Chuck?”  
“Yeah…”  
“She got him kidnapped?”  
“It’s like she has this…superpower.”  
Ellie kept silent until the recording ended. “Tell me.”  
“They were after her, and took him to trade. They had no idea who he was or what we would do. I almost felt sorry for them.”  
“Really?”  
“No. They took my husband, I gave them what they deserved for it.” Her voice got less firm. “Does that make me a bad person?”  
It wasn’t an idle question, and Ellie knew it. She put her own irritation aside. Someone was hurting and she was a doctor. “Sweetie, you’re a wife and an agent. I’d be more upset if you hadn’t done something. It’s the same for doctors. Sometimes you have to do bad things to prevent worse things. It wasn’t bad, just…necessary.” She came around her desk and enveloped Sarah in a rare non-bone-crushing hug. “Is it bothering you?”  
“No.”  
“Ah, and that’s what’s bothering you.”  
“No. Well, yes, but…” Sarah fell into a chair. “I’m more comfortable rescuing my husband from a hostage situation than I am just lying in bed with him.”  
“That’s not surprising.” She stroked Sarah’s hair. “A hostage situation gives you an enemy and a purpose. Lying in bed, you look out over this vast indefinite future of things happening, but you don’t know what they are or what you can do about them. You can’t plan or prepare.”  
“I like to plan,” Sarah said to her knees.  
Ellie smiled. “You mean all those missions with my brother didn’t give you a taste for making it up as you went along?”  
“Please, he was worse than Carina. At least she had a plan, she just didn’t bother sharing it with the rest of us. You’re brother is a genius but he wasn’t easy to work with.” Suddenly her pocket buzzed, and Sarah pulled out her phone. She read the text aloud. “Grab your passport and pack your swimsuit, you’re going to Hawaii!” She looked up. “Can I take that last sentence back?”  
“He does know that’s a state. I helped him study for his geography final.”  
“I can ask him…”  
Ellie waved a hand. “Don’t bother, he’s on a roll.”  
“Okay.” She started typing. “Why am I going to Hawaii?”  
Even the buzz of the phone seemed more agitated. “The Ring’s going after Morgan!”


	18. chapter 18

A/N I was expecting them to be in Hawaii by now, but somehow this thing took an unexpected backstory-ish turn. Weird. Thanks to those who commented, as always. For those who really really want an Ellie/Carina confrontation, rest assured it will happen, but some booms have to carefully raised to be properly lowered.

 _“Grab your passport and pack your swimsuit, you’re going to Hawaii!”_  
 _She started typing. “Why am I going to Hawaii?”_  
 _Even the buzz of the phone seemed more agitated. “The Ring’s going after Morgan!”_  
***   
“Chuck, you are aware, I hope, that Hawaii is the fiftieth state of the Union? It has been for some time.”  
Chuck was the only one who succeeded in keeping a straight face, although Ellie and Sarah at least made the attempt. Casey and Carina didn’t. Even Beckman herself had a twitch to her lip, if you looked, and he did look. He’d been dressed down by her more often than he wanted to admit, been the object of her withering sarcasm, more cutting than any of Casey’s snide remarks. But he’d never been razzed by her before. She never would have called him ‘Chuck’ if she’d been serious. “Yes General. Clearly my sister’s coaching in the fine points of U.S. history and geography has been less effective than we all hoped.” On one of the insets of his monitor, Ellie’s mouth dropped. Sarah laughed and bumped shoulders with her.   
Chuck could get used to briefings like this.  
“Good. Now that that’s settled, let us move on to other matters of grave importance. Mr. Grimes is in Hawaii and the Ring is seeking him there. Why?”   
“Well, as to the first, Morgan has always had a dream to become a hibachi chef, and he went off to Hawaii with his girlfriend Anna to learn at Benihana.” Chuck put up a bit of video he’d stolen and kept for himself, Morgan’s moment of triumph, the day he’d quit the Buy More, Anna all over him and nothing else, above the waist. To the other greenshirts it was an inspiring moment.  
Casey rolled his eyes at the display. “That makes about as much sense as anything else in Grimes’ life,” he said, less than inspired.  
“At least he’s got a dream, Casey,” said Ellie.  
“Yes, and kudos to Mr. Grimes for aspiring to be more than he is, but the question is why would the Ring want him? Surely they can get their own hibachi chefs, should they need one.”  
“They think he’s Charles Carmichael.”  
The train that had been so smoothly and swiftly cruising across the Great Plains with picturesque views on either side, suddenly missed a bridge and went crashing into a ravine that shouldn’t even have been there. Only Chuck could keep track of all the reactions in all the little boxes on his screen, but fortunately for them he was above petty things like blackmail.  
“Explain,” said the General, in a strangled voice.  
Chuck waited politely until Casey had finished wiping the tears from his eyes. “The most the Ring could have known was that Charles Carmichael was based out of LA. Morgan and I both left at about the same time, in opposite directions. Since then—“  
“Since then we’ve been involved in some operations that went off like clockwork, with you kept safely out of the way in your insulated bunker.”  
“Yes, thank you Casey, for that analysis.” Especially since it agreed with his own.  
“What happened to Morgan, Chuck?” said Sarah.  
Another image popped up. “Alejandro Fulgencio Goya, premier of the tiny nation of—“  
“Costa Gravas,” growled Casey.  
“Why, yes, Casey, I do believe you’ve vacationed there a time or two. Not that most of us would consider two weeks inside the walls of a tropical fortress a vaca—”  
“Don’t remind me. Three times that little weasel got away.”  
“Make it four,” said Chuck. Several news photos popped up. “He was in Hawaii last week, trying to enhance his country’s image, but more importantly researching ways to make his country more tourist-friendly. As part of this tour, he got out among the people at a local restaurant.” Three guesses which one.  
“Grimes was there?”  
“As a trainee.” Other photos started popping up, blurry figures in the background circled. “The Ring must not have any hibachi chefs of their own. It looks like they tried to substitute an agent for one of the chefs in the restaurant, and I doubt he was very convincing. Something happened, but we have no clear evidence as to what.”  
“Let me guess. Knives, flames, and people running screaming into the night?”  
“Something like that, yeah.”  
“Sounds like a typical Carmichael op to me.”  
“Yes, and thank you again, Casey, for your insights.”  
“It does bear a remarkable similarity to that one mission we did, Chuck. You remember it, we had to pass it off as a reality TV program gone horribly wrong—?”  
“Thanks for that trip down memory lane, Sarah,” said Chuck, jaw clenched.  
Carina just had to know. “What were you going to call it?”  
Casey smirked. “I voted for ‘World’s Biggest Loser’.”  
“They would have sued us, if the show had been even remotely real.”  
“Okay, getting back to the briefing now…when the dust settled, Goya was alive, the assassin was dead, and one of Morgan’s knives was lodged in the assassin’s chest.”  
“So who really did it?” asked Casey.  
“Unknown at this time, but Morgan was hailed as the hero of the hour, and extensively interviewed as such.” A new box popped up.  
“—honestly don’t know what I did, Becky, I guess I was flying on auto-pilot at that point, and just went into my move—” The playback paused, catching Morgan with his mouth open.  
Ellie spoke into the silence. “His move?”  
“The Morgan.”  
“That’s not a move!” said Casey. “That’s flinching, with style!”  
“Fortunately no one asked for a demonstration.”  
Beckman leaned forward. “Is this all, Mr. Bartowski?”  
“In the day since all this happened, two other Ring operatives have been found, armed but dead. Local authorities have no idea who they really were. They’re concerned, since Morgan was nearby in both cases, but he’s playing it all blasé for the cameras.” Another popup.  
“—nothing frightens the Griminator, although I’m very grateful for your concern—”  
“The Griminator?” said Carina. “Martin?”  
“Maybe we should let the Ring capture him,” said Casey. “We’d have them surrendering in droves within a week.”  
“He’s my best friend, Colonel, and a civilian,” said Chuck. “He’s not a goat to stake out in the middle of the Pacific so you can grab the Ring brass.”  
“Actually, Chuck, he makes quite an excellent magnet—”  
“General, you can’t be proposing—!”  
She was much better at interrupting. “As I was saying, Mister Bartowski, Colonel Casey, despite Mr. Grimes’ obvious attractive properties, we cannot leave him to twist in the wind.” She matched Chuck’s expression of surprise with her own. “I’m not so heartless as all that, Chuck. Morgan Grimes may not be on our team, but he’s on yours, and has been for most of your lives. Whatever his failings—” her expression revealed that in her opinion his failings were many “—that kind of loyalty deserves to be rewarded.” Her eyes shifted. “Sarah, Casey, prepare to go to Hawaii and extract Mr. Grimes.”  
“Uh, General, I have a…social…obligation…this evening…” Casey sounded almost embarrassed to admit that he had a life.  
“An obligation that trumps your mission, Colonel?”  
“It is…obliquely…related…ma’am. Part of my cover.”  
She gave him an odd look, but finally nodded. “Very well, Agent…Carina, you shall accompany Agent Bartowski to Hawaii. Mr. Grimes’ safety is the priority.” Although if you should happen to encounter a Ring strike team or two…  
Chuck practically sighed in relief, now that it was official. “Thank you, General.”  
“Thank you, Mr. Bartowski. I trust you will be on hand to provide support, should any be needed?”  
“Of course, ma’am.”  
“Dismissed.”  
***  
Casey cut his feed, relieved that he’d managed to not get roped into this Hawaii thing, grateful for once that Carina was there to pick up the slack. The guys in IM had found out about his promotion to Colonel. It would really have sucked for the guest of honor to miss his own party.  
***   
Carina did not, strangely enough, leap from her desk in glee at the opportunity to escape dreary DC, instead getting out her flash drive and calling up her main spreadsheet. All her outfits had been carefully vetted to reveal maximum skin while concealing copious weapons. She just had to find one she hadn’t worn in Hawaii already. Good recordkeeping is essential to a proper wardrobe.  
***   
“Well, we knew this was going to happen sooner or later.”  
“I had my vote in the goblet for later. I hope you’re going loaded for bear?”  
“Chuck, it’s a simple extraction job.”  
“Sarah, you’re going to be on the same island with Morgan and Carina at the same time. Do you remember what happened the last time those two crazy kids were in the same time zone? You will be armed with every gadget Q ever dreamed up, and some he didn’t.”  
Sarah smiled. “Yes, husband.”  
Chuck smiled back. “Better. No taking chances with my wife, now.” He kissed her firmly.  
When he was done she looked at him with a somewhat dazed expression. “I—I have to go pack—or something…”  
He nuzzled her neck. “Definitely ‘or something’.”  
“I have to go…” she repeated breathlessly, pushing with no strength.  
He let her have her way with him. “Don’t think of it as going. Think of it as preparing to be welcomed back.”  
***   
“I thought you’d be calling,” said Ellie.  
Beckman saw no need to play the politeness game. “Your analysis, Doctor.”  
“His behavior is normal for Chuck. His scans are all within the baselines we’ve established. He had a few mild spikes when he mentioned Charles Carmichael, but I think that’s amusement, here. Other spikes, here and here. He doesn’t like being reminded of his failures any more than you or I do. All perfectly normal in context, nothing I would consider noteworthy. I wish you’d tell me what you’re afraid of, General.”  
“I’d tell you if I knew. These are uncharted waters, Doctor, and we are the mapmakers. The Intersect Project must not be allowed to fail again.”

A/N2 Cue dramatic music. I don’t think I had any of them acting OOC, especially the General. I never thought she was written very coherently on the show.


	19. chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah and Carina in Hawaii, trying to save Morgan from himself.

“Chuck, it’s a simple extraction job.”  
“I wish you’d tell me what you’re afraid of, General.”  
“I’d tell you if I knew. These are uncharted waters, Doctor, and we are the mapmakers.”  
“Don’t think of it as going. Think of it as preparing to be welcomed back.”  
***   
Sarah squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable in every position. When the seat fit, her clothes were too tight. When she was comfortable in her clothes, she felt too hot. If by some miracle she found a posture that suited her, she got tingles and muscle aches that forced her to move and start the whole dance all over again. She hadn’t needed to, but she’d gone to the bathroom three times already just for the walk.  
Carina noticed, of course. She wasn’t really reading the fashion magazine in front of her, she’d already determined that she was ahead of the curve in every way and was merely gloating. “Something wrong, Walk—Bartowski?”  
Sarah froze. Busted. Still she tried to bluff. “There’s something wrong with this seat.”  
Call. “You want to change?”  
Fold. They’d already exchanged seats, and Carina looked quite comfortable where she was. “No,” said Sarah, rubbing her sweaty palms on her pants. “It wouldn’t do any good.”  
“Probably not, Blondie. You look like you’re about to join the Mile High club all by yourself, and that’s just wrong on so many levels.”  
Chuck kissing her. Chuck nuzzling at her neck. Chuck sending her across the continent alone. She squirmed in her seat some more. “I hate my husband.”  
Carina looked up. “That might work.”  
***   
Chuck rang the bell, even though his sister had long ago given him a key. She’d also told him that Devon would be home tonight, so he didn’t think he’d have to use it, and he wasn’t disappointed.  
“Hey Chuck, come on in, bro. Ellie said you’d be coming by.”  
Chuck stepped through the doorway, gave his brother-in-law a hug. “Hi, Devon. It’s been too long.”  
“That it has, Chuckmeister, that it has. But if I had a wife as beautiful as yours at home you wouldn’t be seeing me that often either.”  
“You do.”  
“You see my point, then,” said the blond Adonis, with his trademark broad grin. “Sarah out saving the world again?”  
“No, just a…small piece of it.” Devon was on call for the Medical needs of the Intersect Project, but not cleared for their activities otherwise. “She’s in the air now, and I’ll be supporting her team later.”   
Which meant Ellie would be busy later too. Devon was used to the two of them working long and incompatible shifts, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Fortunately her schedule was a lot more regular now they were in DC. “That’s great, bro. I was just gonna do an hour on the bike, maybe some crunches with a protein shake chaser, especially if El’s not gonna be home. But we can do some takeout if you like.”  
“No need, Captain, no need.” Time to man up, Bartowski. “You mind if I join you, maybe try out one of your famous shakes?”  
Another bright smile. “Awesome! Hey, you wanna go for a run instead?”  
Chuck’s smile was weaker, but trying. “Promise you’ll go easy on me? I have to work tonight.”  
“No problem, Chuck. Run a couple of miles, down one of my special specials, and all will be right with your world.”  
Chuck just nodded. The things we do for love.  
***   
“Hey, Blondie, wait up.”  
Sarah paused and turned. “Hurry up. We’ve got to get to Morgan.” She let the ‘before they do’ hang unspoken.  
“We’ve got to do nothing,” whispered Carina fiercely when she was close enough. “We are two hot babes on vacation, ogling and being ogled. Anything else is breaking cover.” Sarah wiggled her ringed fingers in Carina’s face, and walked away. “Okay, one hot babe and…whatever you are,” said Carina, hurrying to catch up. “Which is good, by the way. I get all the spillover.”  
“You can’t honestly think we’re going to be here long enough for it to matter?”  
“A girl can dream, can’t she?”  
“No!” Sarah said. “No, I can’t dream. I would love to dream, and dream of making that dream a gushy reality, but this mission doesn’t need Sarah Bartowski right now, it needs Agent Walk—Bartowski.”  
“Geez, Blondie, I thought you took care of that back at the hotel. You should have gone before we left.”  
“’Gone’?”  
“I’m being subtle. One verb is as good as another to a girl in your condition.”  
“This is you being subtle? ‘Cause you kind of suck at it.”  
“I suck at—No. Nope. I’m not gonna do it.”  
Sarah rolled her eyes but kept walking. “Not gonna do what?”  
“Sleazy banter. I need to upgrade, thanks to that boytoy of yours.”  
Sarah turned in mid-step. “You’ve been trying your sleazy tricks on my husband?”  
Heads turned up and down the street.  
Carina moved in close, perhaps not the safest move but a necessary one. “Geez, Walker, chill out. Save it for when we need a diversion.” Normally she didn’t mind being stared at by strangers, but not this way, and she strode away first, forcing Sarah to play catch-up. Under her breath, she muttered, “It’s not like they work on him anyway. Not when he has you so ready and willing, Mrs. Bunny Rabbit.”  
Sarah laughed. “You’ve got that completely wrong. It’s not because he’s my husband that he ignores your lines, it’s because he ignores your lines that he’s my husband. Do you really think that upgrading your cheap moves will work any better?”  
Carina frowned at the claim that anything about her was cheap, but deep down she knew they were. She saw that now, and it was all Chuck’s fault for being such a boy scout. “No, but that’s not the point. They’re supposed to be fun, not embarrassing.”  
“Especially not so embarrassing that they drive him right into the arms of the enemy.”  
Professional failure was the only thing that could make Carina blush like that. “Way to rub it in, Walker.”  
“Bartowski.”  
“I thought we didn’t need Sarah Bartowski on this mission.”  
Sarah pursed her lips fuming. Suddenly her faced cleared, and she smiled. “You know, you’re right. This mission doesn’t need Sarah Bartowski at all. So I think I’ll let her go back to the hotel and lie there in frustrated splendor, thinking up a suitable punishment.”  
“For Chuck?” He’d need a walker when she was through with him.  
“Sarah Bartowski already knows what Chuck’s punishment will be, and it’ll land on him like a ton of bricks as soon as she can get him alone. This punishment’s for you. She still hasn’t forgiven you yet.”  
***  
Chuck stared at the glass, its contents an interesting shade of…tan. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “This is my mission, and I’ve chosen to accept it.”  
Devon stood by the sink, rinsing out the blender. “It’s just a protein shake, bro. No need to act like it’s your last meal.”  
“If it tastes like it looks, it may very well be.”  
“Come on, this is a baby shake.” He flipped the towel over his shoulder. “Starting you off easy, just like you said.”  
Chuck took a cautious sip. “What’s in it?”  
Devon backed away. “Oh no, I’ll tell you that after it’s done. Down the hatch. Can’t be awesome without being —” dramatic pause “—awesome.” He folded his arms and waited.  
Try as he might, Chuck couldn’t refute that argument. “Here goes.” He closed his eyes, held his breath, and drank the whole thing down in one long pull. “Now, spill it.”  
Devon smiled as he took the glass and rinsed it. “That was just four eggs and a glass of orange juice, whizzed up in a blender. Wait until you get to the real drinks.”  
“Is there some kind of Manly-Man school that you and Casey both went to, cause I swear—” His phone buzzed, and he checked the text. “Gotta go, big guy. Thanks for the workout.” He hobbled to the door.  
“You want me to carry you? Might be faster.”  
“No thanks. I’m good. And I’m gonna get better.”  
“It’s not impossible, bro. We’ll get you where you want to go,” said Devon with firm conviction. “It’s just gonna take a long time and hurt a lot.”  
“I think I figured that part out already.”  
***   
They knew they were getting close when they spotted the line. Both ladies ran their fingers through their hair casually, activating ear comms that connected back to a relay in their hotel which bounced the signal around the planet to Chuck, sitting inside his insulated bunker.   
He was also watching from orbit, but once they went inside it would be ears only. “Perfection, this is Graboid, you are live.”  
Carina. “What happened to ‘Telescope’?”  
“This is radio.”  
“Then I want a radio name too.”  
“The only woman really in the movie was named Rhonda, she was the romantic lead.”  
Sarah. “I don’t think so, Chuck.”  
“Yeah, I didn’t think you would. How about ‘Bedrock’?”  
Carina shook her head, muttering, “Not gonna do it” under her breath.  
Sarah smirked. “That would be a no, Graboid.”  
“Rats. I figured if I couldn’t get her into bed I could at least get a bed into her.” Sarah swallowed a laugh and looked over at Carina, who was turning purple with either suppressed laughter or rage. “How about ‘Stampede’?”  
Carina. “Those are my choices?”  
“Best I can do, off the cuff like this.”  
“Fine, ‘Stampede.’ I hate you more than your wife does right now. And she hates you a lot.”  
Chuck started to sweat. “Sweetie?”  
Sarah. “Sweetie’s back in the hotel room, planning various revenges. Agent Bartowski plus one is waiting to get this mission underway.”  
“Jump the line, Perfection.” Revenge for what?  
“Jumping, Graboid.”  
They walked down the street, completely past the line, to a newly-hired bouncer and his clipboard. The windows of this restaurant were papered with clippings, accounts of the events of a few days ago and their trainee’s starring role. Sarah looked up, expecting to see a homemade ‘Home of the Griminator’ sign, but apparently good sense (and taste) had prevailed at least once in this snafu. “Excuse me,” said Sarah, “I’m looking for Morgan Grimes.”  
“Back of the line, ladies.”  
“My name is Sarah Bartowski. I’m a personal friend.”  
“I’m sure you are.”  
“Morgan Grimes moved here from Los Angeles. He used to work at a Buy More in Burbank, where his best friend was and still is Charles Irving Bartowski, king of the Nerd Herd and my husband.” She flashed him a picture of the three of them together.  
The guard pulled out his radio. “Somebody for Grimes, a hot blonde, name of Bartowski.” He listened to his earpiece, then pulled the rope aside. “Enjoy your stay, ladies.”  
“Thank you.”  
Morgan sat enthroned at the bar, drinking free grape soda while acting as a combination greeter, hero, and king, when he was required to act at all. The job suited him. The first thing he did when they got to him was sign their photo. “Chuck’s not with you?”  
“No, he’s still back in DC. He sent us, though. Morgan, do you have any idea of the danger you’re in?”  
“Danger? Don’t I know it! All these fans and my sweet Anna-belle is just a little bit possessive. Make that a big bit possessive. Thank God they hired the bouncers, keeping the mob under control. But you can go back to DC and tell Chuck not to worry, I won’t let it change me.”  
“Morgan…”  
“Well, well, well,” said a slightly inebriated man as he oozed himself in behind Sarah. “It looks like the king of Benihana has finally found his queen! This calls for a celebration! Bartender, a round of drinks for the lucky lovely ladies.”   
This just kept getting better and better. “Thanks, but no,” said Sarah, turning. She raised her hand. “Very married, very happy.”  
The man grabbed her wrist. “Oh we know who you are, Mrs. Carmichael,” he said, poking her in the ribs with his concealed pistol. “That’s why we’re celebrating.”


	20. chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah and Carina try to save Morgan, only to find that they're too late.

_“Tell Chuck not to worry, I won’t let it change me.”_  
_“No thanks. I’m good. And I’m gonna get better.”_  
_“Very married. Very happy.”_  
_"We know who you are, Mrs. Carmichael. That’s why we’re celebrating.”_  
***  
Morgan looked up and saw some goofball manhandling his best friend’s best girl. Only girl, and you can’t get any better than that. “Hey, hands off, Mac! Weren’t you listening? The lady’s taken.”  
The man gestured, and another goon materialized by Morgan’s side, tranq gun in hand.”So are you, Mr. Carmichael, so are you.” The goon fired twice.  
“Hey, that hu-uuh!” Morgan, never one to do anything gracefully, toppled from his stool, forcing the goon to catch him and distracting his boss. His boss still held Sarah’s wrist, with less than eight inches of space between them when his eyes flicked once to look over her shoulder.  
Sarah kicked him. In the nose.  
He died.  
He died with momentum, and Sarah used that momentum to pivot his dead weight around and slam it into his goon. The man went down under his leader’s bulk, with Sarah following as her wrist was still held. Carina moved to grab Morgan as he continued to topple from his stool. Thus no one was entirely upright when a third Ring agent opened fire from the other end of the bar.  
The bullets shattered the window, as people outside in very little clothing ran in panic from the sound of gunfire and the explosion of glass.  
***  
Chuck winced at the sudden loud noises in his headphones. “Someone call the General! They’re in trouble!”  
***  
Something went crunch and the shooting stopped. “Hey, jackass! There could be kids out there!” Sarah heard a series of sharp strikes of wood against flesh, the sound of metal hitting the floor, and a man howling in pain. She looked up, to see a short Asian woman with two wooden rods in her hands dancing around the man with careful, precise footwork, landing blow after unanswered blow against his head, wrists, and elbows.  
“Don’t worry, ladies,” she said with perfect calm. For a finale she hooked her opponent’s head with the short end of her stick and ran it into the bar, dropping him like a stone. “I got this.” She kept a fighting stance, but no new enemies came crawling out of the woodwork.  
“Anna?”  
***  
Chucked stared at his blank screen. Anna? “Someone call the General. They’re not in trouble.”  
***  
Anna Wu turned. “Sarah? What are you doing here?”  
“We came to visit, but then those men just came out of nowhere and attacked Morgan.” She looked at the bartender, just starting to show his face above the bar. “You saw it, didn’t you?”  
The man nodded spasmodically.  
Okay, one cover story set. “Why are all these men after him?”  
“It’s a long story.” Anna bent to examine the other two men. “What happened to this one?”  
“He defended us! It was amazing!” said Carina.  
“Morgan did this?” Anna shook her head in dismay. “Right.” She spotted the tranq pistol, and used it to take care of all of the targets who weren’t already dead.  
“What are you doing?” shrieked Sarah, playing her role.  
“Don’t worry, it’s just knockout darts, they’ll wake up in jail.” She looked around. “Can you girls do me a favor, carry him while I clear a path to the back door?”  
Like they had a choice.  
Halfway to the back of the room they heard more gunfire from the front. Anna looked around, and spotted an abandoned knife at the chef’s station next to her. She slammed on stick down on the tip of the blade, and the knife popped up into air. Swinging the other stick like a bat she sent the blade flying across the room to hit the incoming gunman. Not a killing blow, but effective.  
“Huh. Didn’t think that would work.” She turned back to the rear of the room. “Move!”  
Everyone moved. She kicked open the fire exit, adding an annoying screechy alarm to the hysteria of the day, in addition to knocking another agent by the back door over a railing with a broken nose. Anna used up the last of the darts on him, and took his gun.  
“Into the car, ladies.”  
Sarah and Carina pretended to fumble.  
“Watch it!”  
“Sorry.”  
Once the drooling and newly-bruised chef-trainee was secured Anna hit the gas and sped off madly down the alley as her helpers buckled themselves in. “What was all that about?” Carina did a great fake-panic.  
Anna looked nervously back and forth at her mirrors, checking for pursuit. “Sarah, I’ve got something to tell you, and it’s going to sound crazy but you have to believe me.”  
Sarah looked understandably reluctant. “Okay?”  
“I’m with the NSA.”  
“You’re kidding.”  
“No I’m not kidding.” Anna was practically screaming. “I’ve been a trainee for a couple of months now. I’m not even a full agent yet and I’ve been protecting Morgan for days from all these guys. I sent in an emergency code but no one’s gotten back to me yet, so I’m just gonna go to my mentor’s safehouse and try to figure out what to do. You have to come with me.”  
She turned to Sarah with wide eyes.  
“Please don’t tell Morgan.”  
***  
“What do you _mean_ she’s one of mine?”  
“Listen for yourself, General.” Chuck started the playback.  
“She’s a goddamn trainee? Where’s her mentor? Who’s responsible over there? Tell Sarah to get me whatever she can from this girl, but do not, I repeat not, break cover. Get Colonel Casey.”  
As Chuck passed on the message General Beckman got on her own phones. Chuck could hear her in the background shouting dire military threats at someone if they didn’t ‘get their thumbs out’ and get back to her ASA-goddamn-P.  
***  
Casey had just cut the cake when the phone in his pocket starting buzzing one continuous stream. Everyone heard it, everyone stopped. “The party’s over, gentlemen.”  
“Isn’t that typical?” said Showtunes.  
Pebbles handed him a wrapped bundle as he was getting his coat. “Here. Take some cake, at least. You earned it, Colonel.” He stepped back, and they all saluted.  
“Thank you, gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure.”  
“Be here early tomorrow, will ya, Ladyfeelings? That toilet on three is giving us trouble again.”  
Ladyfeelings nodded. “You got it, boss.”  
***  
Casey called in from the security of his car. “What is it, Eagle-Eye?”  
“You remember An—uh, the…bearded troll’s…girlfriend, don’t you, Kaleidoscope? You recruited her, didn’t you, after I told you not to.”  
Casey grunted. “Like I take orders from you, CIA. But to answer your question, no, I didn’t recruit her. Why do you ask?”  
“Because your ‘typical Carmichael op’ is apparently her work, NSA.”  
“No NSA agent would ever make the kind of scenes you did, Bar—”  
“She’s a trainee, she’s alone, and now she’s dragged Perfection and Stampede into the middle of her situation.”  
Chuck could hear Casey breathing heavily. “Well, at least she has an excuse, and now she has some competent backup, but don’t tell Ca—uh…?”  
“Stampede.”  
“Sounds about right. Don’t tell her I said she was competent or I’ll never hear the end of it. Who’s her trainer?”  
“North Star’s trying to get that information now.” Chuck raised the volume on Beckman’s monitor.  
_“I’ve got a stopwatch and a .45.”_  
Casey grunted, amused. “RHIP.”  
“Patching you through now.”  
***  
Sarah looked through the doorway into the bedroom of the safe house. “You think he’ll be alright? He didn’t even move when we brought him in.”  
“That’s tranqs for you.”  
“Will he be waking up soon?” With two darts in a relatively small body the answer should be a firm No.  
Anna shrugged. “With Morgan, who can say? The way he drinks the grape soda and the Red Bull I’m surprised they knocked him out at all.”  
They retreated to the living room to sit and wind down, while Carina went to investigate the contents of the refrigerator.  
“So…Anna…how long have you been with the government?” asked Sarah, a little hesitantly. “You weren’t spying on me and Chuck at the Orange Orange, were you?”  
“Ewww, gross! That was Jeff and Lester’s thing, not mine. But come on, do you honestly think if I was working for the government I would have been caught dead in a Buy More?”  
Sarah kept her eyes from looking at Carina, strangling in the kitchen. “Maybe…”  
Carina spoke up. “Please, Sarah, even the government has more class than that.”  
“But I gotta tell you it’s a lot more fun than sitting around watching Morgan practice flipping his damn shrimp day after day. At least it was until that guy came to his restaurant and caused all that fuss—”  
“What guy?” asked Carina.  
“That dictator guy!”  
“Goya?” said Sarah.  
“Yeah, him! We were shadowing him, my trainer and me, he said it was part of my training. When the shooting started he told me to stay in the car—”  
“Did you?”  
“Of course not, Morgan was in there!” Sarah and Carina both rolled their eyes. “I went in through the kitchen, because who’s going to notice an Asian girl in the kitchen at a Benihana? And then I saw Morgan, struggling with the assassin—”  
Sarah didn’t have to fake her wide-eyed look. “Really?”  
“Yeah, I know, right? I don’t know what he thought he was doing, but I knew what the assassin was doing, so I did it first. I didn’t know throwing knives was so easy!”  
Sarah coughed.  
“And since then it’s been one guy after another. Who wants Goya dead so bad they’ll go after a hibachi chef for being a hero?”  
***  
“That’s a good question,” said Casey. “It’s not just Grimes. We’re forgetting about Goya.”  
***  
Sarah loved it when her job gave her the opportunity to be honest. “It sounds to me like it’s you who’s the hero here, Anna.”  
“Thanks, but you can’t tell anyone that, okay. Especially Morgan. You know how men are.”  
Carina laughed out loud. “Oh, yeah, I know how men are.”  
“Then I feel sorry for the both of you,” said Sarah.  
***  
Chuck smiled.  
“You’re smiling, aren’t you, Eagle-Eye? I can hear you smiling. Cut it out.”  
***  
Morgan’s voice suddenly rose in a shriek, “Anna! I’m dying, Anna, they shot me!”  
The three ladies ran to take positions around the bed. “Morgan! I’m here, Morgan, you’re not dead. It was just a dream.”  
Morgan turned his face toward her voice, eyes blinking. “It was a nightmare!” he croaked. “I dreamed I was shot and I was dying and then I was in—” he looked around, Anna before him, Sarah and Carina, still in their bikinis, on either side, all of them with looks of concern on their faces “—Heaven.”  
***  
“Have you sent a team to extract them, General?”  
Beckman sighed. “No, Chuck, I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”  
Chuck’s face fell. “Wh-wha-what? But…we were just listening to them…”  
“I was too late to send the order, Chuck. An extraction order for Agent Wu and Mr. Grimes was already sent, although I was able to add our agents’ names to the list.”  
“Is this extraction order legitimate?” asked Casey. “Who else would be trying to get them, General?”  
Beckman growled. Now Chuck knew where Casey learned it from. “Mr. Grimes is wanted here in Washington, so that Premier Goya can give him a medal.”


	21. Morgan's Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna and Sarah have a candid conversation.

A/N I did lots of research before starting this, but then I met this guy named Quinn, and now I don’t remember any of it. Sorry.  
***  
 _“I’m with the NSA.”_  
 _"I feel sorry for the both of you.”_  
 _“Heaven.”_  
 _“Mr. Grimes is wanted here in Washington.”_  
***   
The first night was the hardest. Even though they’d only been married a few months, Chuck had gotten completely used to the experience of Sarah, his Sarah, in his bed. The heat of her body, as he spooned up against her. The weight of her, as she lay her head on his chest and used him as her pillow on the good nights, and her comforter on the bad ones. The smell of her hair in either circumstance.  
He was at rest when she was.  
She was his bed partner in every sense of the word, but not tonight. As he lay sleepless, she was in Hawaii, the bad guys after her, his best friend in tow, no backup except two cannons, named Loose and Looser. Did she pack enough bullets? He tightened his grip on her pillow. How do the real agents stand this?  
“I was just gonna do an hour on the bike, maybe some crunches with a protein shake chaser, especially if El’s not gonna be home.”   
Is that why Devon did it? To drive the fact of his aloneness at that moment as far away as he could get it? Chuck sighed. Probably not, the guy was awesome. He had his awesomeness to keep him company. Chuck was Captain Kryptonite. Totally not awesome.  
In the comic books the hero didn’t sleep either, but superheroes don’t need to sleep, do they? That’s why they’re super. They had secret identities when they needed some downtime. Where was his secret identity? They’d taken Charles Carmichael away from him, sent it flittering around the world like a ghost to lead the spookhunters a merry chase. In return, they’d given him what, ‘Tough Guy’?  
Then he realized he had it backward. This was his secret identity. Crap.  
Chuck flung his blankets aside and went into his kitchen. Four eggs and a glass of orange juice tasted better at this hour of night, or maybe his senses were still asleep. Cup in hand, he cruised by the window, showing himself to his detail outside to ease their concerns at this change in his routine. He turned on the TV, some news channel. No reports of volcanic eruptions in Hawaii so far. He hoped Morgan and Carina were all right, and turned the sound down.  
Time to be…well, super, if not awesome. Time to clean.  
***  
The first night was the hardest. In the heat of battle, the thrill of the chase, Sarah Bartowski had been perfectly willing to hang back at the hotel and think evil thoughts while Agent Bartowski got the job done. Now there was no battle, no chase, and the softer side of Sarah was making her presence felt in a very firm way.  
It wasn’t late in Hawaii, but it was late in DC and that’s where she belonged. I wonder if Chuck’s sleeping. He’d better be, he had work tomorrow. Somehow she knew he wasn’t though. The same subtle ache in her own bones that was keeping her up in spite of jet lag had to have its echo in him, didn’t it?  
Maybe it didn’t. He’d had no trouble sleeping before he’d met her. He hadn’t done things that forced him to relive them in his dreams, the way she had.  
She could call, but it was stupid o’clock in the morning back home and she didn’t want to wake him, not on a work day. He was getting few enough hours of sleep tonight as it was, but hopefully he took that nap like he said he would before she left.  
The front door opened, and Anna stepped out onto the porch where Sarah waited for the extraction team, tucking in her shirt. “Thanks for taking first watch.”  
“No problem. Couldn’t sleep anyway. At least two of us got some good use out of this downtime. Well, three if the sounds Carina made are any indication.”  
“Carina? She’s asleep on the couch.”  
“So? Thin walls. Light sleeper. Pleasant dreams.”  
“Which is why you’re out here on the porch.”  
“Pretty much. The noise wasn’t too bad, but she…embellishes, and I didn’t need to see the visuals. It’s bad enough –”  
Anna threw up her hands. “TMI.”  
“That’s what I thought.”  
“I meant you.”  
“Oh. Sorry.” She sighed. “I miss my husband.”  
“TMI!”  
“Sorry.”  
Anna sat on another chair and looked out into the gloom for a while. “You know, I never really saw you and Chuck making a thing of it. No offense. Morgan was pulling for you from the beginning, of course.”  
“Not you? Why not?”  
Anna shrugged. “You were too…flighty. Sure you got Chuck over Jill in a hurry, and thank you for that, by the way, but anybody could tell Chuck was destined for great things once that happened, and you just …I don’t know…weren’t. I mean, look at you: beautiful, blonde, in LA of all places, and you’re working in a yogurt shop? What, did you think some producer was going to drive through Burbank one day and suddenly get thirsty?”  
“…No.”  
“Because really, who does that? You need initiative to succeed in this world, Sarah, and you were one of the most anti-initiative girls I’ve ever met. And as long as you were around, Chuck was going to keep getting sucked into your evil orbit of loser-dom, no matter how many times I saw him try to climb out.”  
Sarah frowned. “This is your idea of ‘no offense’?”  
“Hey, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, Blondie. Everybody else thinks you’re a hooker. So I just want to tell you, Sarah Walker Bartowski, that you’d better make yourself into something worthy of that man or so help me, I will come back from wherever they post me and kick your ass!”  
Sarah nodded her head. “Message received.”  
Anna suddenly crumpled in her chair. “God, I hope that extraction team gets here soon, so I can get some drive-thru. I am starving and there’s, like, no food in this place, unless you count Hot Pockets.”  
Better than MRIs. “They’re okay in a pinch.”  
“Not for this girl,” said Anna. “Real fighting trim requires real food.”  
Sarah stood up. “Sounds like I’ll have to get my own Hot Pocket, then.”  
***  
The first night was the hardest. Sure, she’d been to Hawaii before, but not this part of it, so she had no contacts, no one to call to keep a girl company in the middle of the night. Locked down in a safe house just meant the second night would be like the first, so hopefully this was the only night they’d be stuck in this tropical hellhole.  
Blondie volunteered for first watch, so she claimed the couch for herself as the two lovebirds claimed the bedroom. Lovebirds? Love-elephants, more like it. How could two such small people make so much noise?   
Sarah started fidgeting again, and Carina decided to have a bit of fun with her. She rolled, she stretched, she twisted, all the while moaning and whimpering softly, until finally her victim got up and fled to the porch. Satisfied with her ploy, she rolled over one last time and drifted off. Soldiers on the battlefield could sleep through artillery barrages, and this was no different.   
The absence of noise woke her, in time to hear the soft closing of the door as someone left the bedroom and crossed over to the front door. Anna, probably. Martin wasn’t that light on his feet. Plus she could hear his snoring, cut off by the closing door.  
The front door opened and closed, and she could hear their voices outside. Since she was a spy, as well as being incredibly nosy when she heard her own name mentioned, she rolled out of the couch and crept up to the window.  
Hmm. She wasn’t sure ‘embellishment’ was quite the right word for what she was doing, unless she was doing it wrong, but at least it got the job done. And now Sarah was going on about the husband and the missing again, and Carina was feeling all embarrassed, again.  
It’s all that damn Chuck’s fault. First Sarah, then her. It’s like he had some evil superpower.  
And now Anna’s defending him! Against…Sarah? Oh my God. _Ohmigodohmigodohmigod!_ She clapped her hands over her mouth, but sounds were coming out her nose and she couldn’t stop that too. She crept back to the couch, stole a cushion and crept into the kitchen where she could laugh into it without being heard.  
The door opened again and she stopped, trapped in the kitchen, hoping that whoever it was would just go to the bathroom.  
No such luck. Sarah looked down at her friend, sitting on the floor with a cushion against her face. “I’m told there’s Hot Pockets in the freezer.”  
Carina’s eyes dropped from looking at her friend’s face to looking at the cushion. She moved it away from her face, mouth working in disgust. “Y’know, that’s good, cause these things taste terrible.”  
“Like you would know good taste.”  
Carina let that one slide. “What the hell was that?” she said, pointing towards the door.  
“Exactly what it sounded like. I’m either a prostitute or a failed actress, it seems.”  
“You couldn’t tell her about your rich father, and how you’re trying to establish yourself out of his controlling and overbearing shadow?”  
“I was going to use the spy story.”  
“Come on, Sarah, she is an undercover spy, and even she wouldn’t believe it.”  
“It would explain the Porsche.”  
“The hooker story explains the Porsche.”  
Sarah sighed. “True. All it takes is enough money and no judgment whatsoever. Why don’t you own a Porsche?”  
The door popped open and Anna rushed through the room. “Our ride’s here, ladies. Time to blow this pineapple stand.”  
Carina looked at Sarah and mouthed, “Pineapple?”  
Sarah shrugged. “It is Hawaii.”  
Anna came out of the bedroom with some cloth folded over her arm. “Here you go, ladies, a couple of robes for the trip, not sexy but they are warm. Don’t need things any nippier outside than they already are, if you catch my drift.” Stuck in confined spaces for an indefinite time. With Morgan.  
Sarah took the blue one, to no one’s surprise. “What about our stuff at the hotel?” Because a real girl would ask that. The cover clothes had never been worn and the relay would self-destruct if not retrieved in time. With the Ring in town and their own mission blown, no one would bother.  
“Buy new when we get there. I’ll see if I can get it expensed. Oh, and by the way, definitely go with the rich dad story. I’d totally buy that.”  
“Thanks. I’m trying to achieve success on my own, independent of my rich and domineering father. I just want someone who loves me for me, you know?”  
Anna adopted an expression of surprise. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”  
Sarah gave her a shy smile. “A girl’s got to have some secrets, doesn’t she?”  
***  
A/N2 I know Morgan didn’t appear in this. Charlie never did either.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N It waited until chapter 2 to do it, but the story finally started talking to me. As always, no research was performed in the creation of this story. If you’re looking for realism, accuracy, and verisimilitude, watch Get Smart Covert Affairs.

If I owned Chuck they’d have shown the Chuck movie at the wrap-up party.  
***   
_“I miss my husband.”_  
 _“You were one of the most anti-initiative girls I’ve ever met.”_  
 _“What the hell was that?”_  
 _“Time to blow this pineapple stand.”_  
***   
Anna climbed into the minivan looking a bit unhappy. “That was weird.”  
Sarah and Carina were even less happy than she was at being relegated to the rear seats, furthest from the doors, but their covers as non-combatants made that the logical place for them to be, so they sucked it up. “What?” asked Sarah.  
“There’s a guy with a clipboard out there, he’s got all our names on it and checked us all off—”  
Perfection and Stampede shared a look. They were the extraction team for the Intersect Project. This group had to be an NSA team sent at Anna’s original request, but then how did their names get on the list?  
“—and then they put Morgan in a limo and stuck me back here with you two civilians! No offense.”  
Sarah and Carina looked at each other. “What’s weird about that?”  
“They said he was needed in Washington. Who needs Morgan anywhere? And they took my gun away. I hate playing babysitter but how am I supposed to do even that job right without my gun?” She crossed her arms and lowered her head, frowning, much like a baby that needed to be sat. “This sucks.”  
“Your weapon needs to be sanitized, Agent Ling,” said the driver in a monotone. Not ‘cleaned’, Anna did that herself, but rendered untraceable.“You’ll be issued a replacement at the target site.”  
Sarah leaned forward. “Ling?”  
“My cover name, Julie Ling.”  
“You don’t look a bit like a Julie,” said Carina.  
“I didn’t think so either, but who listens to the trainees.”  
The second agent got into the front passenger seat and the radio said something in static-ese, which must have been a signal of some kind as the cars started off back down the road in a close formation.  
“Where are we going?” asked Sarah, knowing she was expected to ask, even though they wouldn’t tell her.  
“Agent Ling, control your guests.”  
“Where are we going?”  
“Target site is need to know, trainee.”  
Anna turned back to her ‘guests’. “The radio doesn’t reach past the other car and it’s encrypted, and they still give us this need to know crap, like anyone’s listening.”  
The earpieces in their ears came to life in their own bursts of static. “—is Graboid, please respond. Perfection and Stampede, this is Graboid, please respond.”  
Both ladies coughed at pretty much the same time.  
Anna barely glanced. “Yeah, your legs do go on forever, don’t they? Blankets under your seats.”  
Chuck ignored the comment, since he couldn’t hear it anyway. “Piggybacking on the secure signal but it probably won’t last. Be advised that evac is from a higher power, North Star got you added on, priorities remain the same. Acknowledge.”  
The ladies were spreading out the blankets they didn’t need. “Great.” “Thanks.”  
“We’ll pick you up again en rou—” En route. Probably in the air.  
So. Sanctioned by Beckman. That reduced the threat of betrayal to manageable levels.  
***  
They watched Anna walk away, or try to, as the plane they were on was made for carrying much heavier things than themselves and handled like a pig on roller skates. Morgan was kept up front, behind a curtain, where they’d heard him groaning loudly a couple of times and she wanted to find out why.  
“I’m telling you, Blondie, it’s creepy.”  
Blondie was watching the men in the bad suits situated all over the plane. “In what way?”  
“Here we are, two hot babes in bikinis—”  
“And scratchy blankets.”  
“Oh, is that why you decided to take it off and artfully re-drape it about your suddenly-revealed body? Because it itched?”  
“The way you were wearing yours, it certainly wouldn’t have been revealing much to take it off, now would it?”  
“Well, you know, it’s the old routine, good cop—”  
“Undressed cop. Any eyes bug out?”  
“’The way Chuck likes me’, my ass. That’s what was creepy. Even Casey’s eyes…linger.”  
“He’s just checking you for weapons.”  
“I know. But these guys, that’s all they were doing. They’re inhuman.”  
“What’s the matter, afraid you can’t do better?”  
“Yes.”  
Sarah paused.  
“This may come as a surprise to you, Blondie, but some of us, namely me, don’t just flaunt my body in the line of duty. I don’t think I need your SIL’s medical degrees to know when people are not acting normally.”  
“On the other hand, they are NSA. Maybe they select for that.”  
“Now that is creepy. I wouldn’t think there’s be this many men like that in the world and you’re saying we got them all in one place?”  
“Would you like me to interrogate one for you?”  
“You’d do that for me?”  
“Sure, but we have to choose carefully. I’ve only got one dose.”  
“Where the hell are you keeping it? Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. You must be losing your touch if you need a truth serum on a man, even these mandroids.” Carina got up and staggered over to the nearest male creature, much more unsteady on her feet than the turbulence would explain. Sarah watched as she practically fell over him, made a little small talk, apparently getting directions which she was careful to follow before staggering back.  
“And?”  
“His mother taught him to be very respectful of ladies, and the bathroom’s back that way.”  
“I could have told you that.”  
“Could have told her what?” said Anna, stumbling back within earshot.  
“The bathrooms are that way.”  
“Sure they are. You really should learn to pay more attention to your surroundings, Carina.”  
Carina nodded. “Yeah, I know. So how’s Morgan?”  
Anna frowned. “I saw him, but we didn’t get a chance to talk. He was in his underwear. They’re fitting him for a suit! All those groans we heard, they were stabbing him with pins whenever the plane shook. I’m sure he must have loved that, he stayed awake the entire flight to Hawaii, rooting for the plane to stay in the air. No wonder he was so pale.”  
“Pale?” asked Sarah.  
“Yeah, poor little baby hates to fly.”  
“Maybe when we land in LA he can get a walk on solid—”  
“They’re doing a midair refuel, no stopovers.”  
Sarah and Carina shared a look.  
“Well,” said Sarah.  
Carina nodded. “That’s…”  
“Yeah, I know,” said Anna, smiling brightly. “Isn’t it cool?”  
***   
Sarah was catching up on some long-overdue sleep when Chuck finally called in. His voice saying, “Perfection, this is Graboid” woke her instantly, not that anyone else could have told. Most of them were doing what she was, sleeping, or pretending to. She rolled over, mumbling something.   
“Yeah, I know,” he said back. “I had to call in sick myself. Told them my frat-boy health-nut brother-in-law forced me to drink one of his protein shakes, and they believed me.”  
Sarah moaned her amusement.  
“Okay now that’s not fair. Either you’re really asleep and having a really great dream, or you’re trying to punish me for that kiss, and either way I really think I ought to be there.”  
Carina growled low in the back of her throat and turned her face towards her pillow, just in case.  
“Fine, be that way. I just want to let you know when you touch down to expect some high up higher-ups. Morgan’s getting a medal from the Costa Gravan premier, on live TV.”  
So that’s what this is all about! Sarah sniffed.  
“We’ll try to break you free of the circus. See you on the ground.”  
***   
Touchdown woke them, but they stayed as they were until Anna came along and not-so-gently woke her ‘sluggish’ charges. “Okay, ladies, rise and shine. Stop soaking up everybody else’s beauty sleep.”  
Carina stopped her with a sudden turn and lunge, which Anna easily blocked. “Sorry, I thought you were my last boyfriend for a second there.”  
“You wake up mean,” said Anna in joy. “I like you.”  
“Great,” muttered the redhead, staring at Anna’s departing back, “She likes me.”  
“Must be all that initiative,” said Sarah, and they both laughed.  
As the put the robes and blankets back on, DC being a good bit ‘nippier’ than Hawaii, Anna came back with another woman. “Ladies, this is Agent Sydney Prince. We’ll be leaving the plane from the other exit so Morgan can make his grand solo entrance for the cameras.”  
“Don’t be bitter, Agent Ling,” said Sydney in a sultry ‘brunette skank’ sort of voice, leading them to the midsection of the plane. “Sure it’s unfair, but to the world at large it’s best that he be the public face of your triumph. Agents avoid fame whenever possible.” They went through the doorway and started to descend a mobile set of stairs. “Just know that we are aware of you and what you’ve done, where it matters.”  
“You are?”  
“Absolutely,” said Prince. “You had everyone convinced that a much more senior agent no one knew about must be on station. You can’t imagine the surprise when we discovered that a mere trainee had accomplished so much. You’ll go far, believe me.”  
“Wow, thanks.”  
“Miss Prince?”  
“That’s Agent Prince, Mrs…” she checked her clipboard “Bartowski. What is it?”  
“My husband works here in DC, If I could just borrow a phone I could call him and have him pick us up, save you the bother.”  
“Chuck works in DC?” asked Anna. “Doing what?”  
“He’s in…Maintenance.”  
“You turned the king of the Nerd Herd into a janitor. Way to urge him on, Sarah.”  
Prince seemed amused. “You know her?”  
Anna sighed. “Her husband is Morgan’s best friend. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to know about her.”  
Prince smirked at them all. “My phone is in my car, Mrs. Bartowski. We’ll get you right back to your husband.”  
As they approached her car, the rear of the plane started to drop. Cameras flashed as Morgan made his way in official splendor down the ramp, accompanied by men in suits and uniforms, absorbing his reflected fame.  
“Is that a BlueTooth he’s wearing?” said Anna. “What’d they give him that for?”  
“It’s a prop,” said Prince, opening her car door and reaching inside. “Something for the security people to confiscate and feel better about themselves over. We injected a subdermal transceiver on the flight in case we had something he needed to hear.”  
“Needs to hear? What would he need to hear?”  
Prince dropped the clipboard, to reveal her gun. “Just the sounds of you and your friends dying horribly, if he fails to follow our instructions exactly. Congratulations, Agent Wu, your boyfriend is going to assassinate the Costa Gravan premier on national television.”  
***  
A/N2 My thanks to those who’ve commented on my stories in this series so far. I’d like to continue thanking you.


	23. chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Daniel Shaw. He's not what you think.

A/N It waited until chapter 2 to do it, but the story finally started talking to me. As always, no research was performed in the creation of this story. If you’re looking for realism, accuracy, and verisimilitude, watch Burn Notice.

If I owned Chuck they’d have shown the Chuck movie at the wrap-up party.  
***   
_“Who needs Morgan anywhere? ”_  
 _“We’ll try to break you free of the circus.”_  
 _“You turned the king of the Nerd Herd into a janitor.”_  
 _“Your boyfriend is going to assassinate the Costa Gravan premier on national television.”_  
***   
“General, we have a situation.”  
Beckman reached for the call button. “Report, Colo–”  
Her smartphone buzzed. “General, we have a situation.”  
“Chuck? How did you get my private–”  
“It wasn’t easy. I had to route it through your home landline first. But, really, that’s–“  
“You called my house?”  
“General, we’re wasting time. The Ring is planning to assassinate Goya!”  
The General sat still for a second, rerouting her thoughts. “And you know this how?”  
“They told me.” Over the intercom came the sound of women’s voices. “You’re going to use Martin–“  
“Morgan.”  
“Whatever.”  
“And make him kill that dictator guy?”  
Beckman turned to her speaker phone. “Did you catch that , Colonel?”  
“It explains what I just saw. Sarah and Carina had their hands up by the SUV. Anna collapsed, and they were forced to load her into the car. I’m in pursuit but I could use some backup.”  
“Did you use one of the Spider-trackers?”  
Casey’s teeth ground together so loudly his earpiece picked it up. “Yes, I managed to successfully plant one of the tag rounds, in spite of the extreme distance.”  
“Then what are you worried about?”  
“You ever heard of a second car, numb-nuts?”  
“You just go ahead, don’t mind me.”  
“I never did, moron.”  
Beckman ignored the by-play. Her smartphone was buzzing at her, with a text message. “General, we have a situation! Chuck’s spiking!”  
She spoke as she typed. “Everybody, conference call in 1 minute.” The second they were all off line, she called her aide. “Call the phone company, have them change my home number.”  
One minute later…  
“Alright, all of you. To summarize the situation, Sarah’s extraction flight from Hawaii was infiltrated by Ring agents, who plan to somehow force Mr. Grimes to assassinate Premier Goya at the medal presentation. The three ladies on the flight with him have been kidnapped and will likely be used as hostages. Any thoughts?”  
“Why all three?” asked Ellie.  
“Anna criticized Sarah in front of the agent who kidnapped them,” said Chuck, ”So they know about her connection to Morgan, which makes her a second handle on him.”  
“And leaves Carina twisting in the wind,” said Casey. “If they get rid of any of them, they’ll start with her, even if it’s just to prove a point.”   
“We don’t have much time, the ceremony is in a few hours. Premier Goya is understandably paranoid about being on U.S. soil.”  
Casey grunted a happy grunt.  
“The clock is ticking, gentlemen. Ellie, I want you to give Chuck the full upload immediately.”  
“General, do you think that’ll help? What could be in the Intersect about this?”  
Beckman pursed her lips. “Maybe nothing, Chuck, but between you and the Intersect I’m not assuming anything. But you’re right, a little insurance couldn’t hurt. Colonel, can you get your team together? I have to make a call.”  
***   
“You two, grab her, into the other car.”  
Carina grabbed Anna’s feet. “Where are you taking us?”  
Prince looked at the redhead with utter scorn. “You know, considering that you’re by far the most expendable of your ridiculous crew, you might want to keep your mouth shut.”  
Considering that the odds were stacked against them , both in numbers and weapons, Carina decided to keep her mouth shut. It was a long shot anyway. Even if the Ice Queen had said anything, they were probably out of range of anything that Chuck could get a signal from, and she was starting to think he could get a signal from a bran muffin. They had to make a move, the second this hit was done they were dead themselves. As before, they sat her up in the middle of the back seat, head drooping.  
Prince gestured imperiously at her henchmen. “Give them your cuffs.” Turning to her prisoners, she said, “I’m going to do one nice thing today, and that’s let you cuff yourselves. If you give me any trouble I’ll let my guys handle it in the future. Got it?”  
Sarah and Carina both recognized the ploy, but went along with it as their roles said they should. They cuffed themselves, snug but not tight, since sure enough she checked. “Good girls. In you go.”  
Anna made a noise as the climbed awkwardly into the oversized vehicle.  
“Goddammit. Zip her, will you, Ian?”  
The designated henchman reached over Carina and pushed Anna forward, where she stopped only because her head hit the seat. Pulling her hands behind her he zipped them in a plastic cable tie with casual brutality and pulled her upright again. The bad guys buckled themselves in and they drove away.  
Carina noticed but didn’t watch as Sarah slowly pulled one hand out from behind her and started doing something to Anna’s bonds. No sense drawing attention to anything.  
***   
Immediately couldn’t come soon enough for Chuck. Every second of delay gnawed at him. Ellie wanted him to take a rest break after she removed the smaller Intersect but even she cut a few corners in times of need. Chuck hadn’t shown many ill effects from any of the downloads and it would take her a few minutes to set up a full upload anyway. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”  
“Chuck, you know better than I do just how fast this thing is,” replied Ellie abstractedly over the speaker.   
“The data has to be encrypted fresh each time, as I adjust the algorithms, but that’s all I know about it.”  
It takes as long as it takes. Never had that knowledge, that the electronics didn’t care, grate at him so much. “Can we get a treadmill in here, or something? I could really use something to do right now.”   
“You can’t get it right now, Chuck,” she reminded him distantly, watching three screens at the same time. “There’s no time now, and once you’re loaded up the door seals until it’s out again, you know that.”  
“Yeah, I know that. But there’s always tomorrow’s disaster to plan for.”  
“Fine, then we’ll get you tomorrow’s treadmill to plan for it.”  
“It feels good to have a plan.”  
“It’ll feel better to have Sarah back. Are you ready? The program’s ready.”  
“I’m more than ready, sis. I’m waiting and I’m even eager.” He shook his head. ”God, who’d’ve thought I’d ever be eager for this?”  
“Upload initiated.”  
The screens started to flicker, a display that Chuck always felt was more for special effects than anything else. Certainly the data didn’t seem any different depending on the screens he looked at, and it wasn’t like he could look at all of them. Maybe Ellie knew the reason for it, if there was one.  
Today Chuck cared even less than usual. He kept his eyes wide open. He couldn’t get the data in fast enough. Slowly he turned, looking at every screen. Somewhere on one of them was the answer they needed. Time…to…man…up.  
***  
“How long until Chuck is ready to join us, Dr. Woodcombe?”  
“He’s ready now, General. He’s resting but as long as he’s not required to flash immediately he can listen in with no problems.”  
“Good. Chuck?”  
“Yes?” he said with a groan.  
“I’m going to go out on a limb and suppose that you’ve read the manual for all the equipment in the room with you.”  
He laughed, which she took for a yes.  
“On the microphone output there’s a distortion function. When the conference begins I’ll need you to turn it on. Not everyone will be cleared for your identity.”  
“Very good.”  
“Colonel Casey, what’s your status?”  
“We’re good to go.”  
Someone knocked on her door. “Come.” When she saw who it was she sent out the same text as before.  
One minute later…  
“Gentlemen, and Dr. Woodcombe, in the room with me is Agent Daniel Shaw of the CIA. Over the last five years he’s become the CIA’s leading expert on Ring strategies and organization. Since this operation is too new to be in the most recent data, as was pointed out, I felt it best to have someone on hand who could provide analysis on the fly. Agent Shaw, on the phone we have Colonel John Casey of the United States Marines and the NSA.”  
“Agent Shaw.” Casey sounded unimpressed, but then Shaw was CIA.  
“Colonel Casey was on the ground when the abduction took place and has been coordinating offensive operations. As well we have Dr. Eleanor Woodcombe, head researcher of the Intersect Project.”  
“Agent.”  
His eyebrows rose at the sound of her voice. “The Intersect Project? I’ve heard of it but I thought it was destroyed.”  
“Anything they want destroyed so badly is worth keeping. Dr. Woodcombe is here as an observer.” Of what or whom, Beckman didn’t say.  
Shaw’s eyes moved to look at the far end of her desk, where a larger monitor was set up. “And who is this, may I ask?”  
Beckman didn’t like looking at the screen, so she didn’t much, preferring to look at her guest. The screen was mostly dark, with a vague simulation of a face rendered in purple pixels, which somehow failed to keep track of movement in real time, smearing and blurring the face whenever the man moved. He wore a hat, it seemed, and a pair of sunglasses. “You may ask, Agent Shaw, but I can’t tell you. The identity of this man is one of the most closely guarded secrets in the world.”  
“Does the mystery man have a name, at least?”  
“My name, Agent Shaw, is Charles Carmichael, and this is my operation henceforth.”  
Agent Shaw abandoned his casual pose, not because of the name but because of the voice, powerful, confident, aware of what its owner could do. The name had become legendary, but the legends are easy to construct. That voice was the real thing. That voice was…doom to his enemies, and Shaw was very glad they were on the same side.  
The voice was not distorted, but Beckman could not have identified it as the voice of Charles Bartowski. “With your permission, General?”  
Shaw looked at the General, wondering if she could or would say no to that voice, deny the claim it had already made. She looked as if the only thing keeping her upright was the starch in her uniform. “Of course, Agent Carmichael,” she mumbled, “Carry on.”  
“Colonel Casey, congratulations on your promotion.”  
Casey took a moment to respond. “Thanks…Mad Dog.”  
Shaw mouthed Mad Dog? at Beckman, but she just spread her hands.  
“What’s the latest on your end?”  
“We tracked the original SUV to a CIA motor pool. It was clean, of course. Given the location and the timing, we’re convinced they have the hostages in the city somewhere, so I’ve prepared an incursion team with a variety of assault scenarios depending on the actual building.”  
“Excellent. Agent Shaw, proceed to Colonel Casey’s location. I want you available to provide analysis on site. Colonel, when Agent Shaw arrives, you will relinquish command of your unit to your SIC and proceed to the ceremony site.”  
Casey managed to restrict his question to a mildly guttural, “Why?” He was looking forward to the shooting.  
“I need a sniper, Colonel, and I know you can get the job done.”  
“You want me to take out Grimes?”  
“Not at all, Colonel. I want you to take out Goya. The only way we can keep him from being assassinated is if we kill him ourselves.”  
***  
A/N2 The creation and development of Carmichael through this season is one of the great serendipitous moments of writing. Someone mentioned several chapters back that Chuck the Janitor was a poor public husband for Sarah Walker, so I started the legend of Carmichael. It takes off on its own starting here, in ways I had not foreseen then or ever. My thanks to those who’ve commented on my stories in this series so far. I’d like to continue thanking you.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N If you’re looking for realism, accuracy, and verisimilitude, watch…um…some other spy show.

If I owned Chuck they’d have shown the Chuck movie on USA Network every other weekend.  
***  
_"General, we have a situation.”_  
_“I have to make a call.”_  
_"My name, Agent Shaw, is Charles Carmichael, and this is my operation.”_  
_"The only way we can keep him from being assassinated is if we kill him ourselves.”_  
***  
Daniel Shaw drove like the wind to meet up with Casey’s team, wondering at his own sanity. He’d abandoned his mission, abandoned her, at the drop of a word from a pixilated image on a screen. He had no business saving women, he’d failed at that already.  
His phone rang. “Shaw secure.”  
“Carmichael secure. What’s your status, Agent Shaw?”  
“I’m a few minutes away from Casey’s location.”  
“Very good,” said Carmichael, more acknowledgement than praise. “I expect to receive an incursion target shortly.”  
“Don’t worry, Agent Carmichael, we’ll get your ladies back for you.”  
Carmichael chuckled. “That is not my concern. I expect them to leave you with little to do on that score. There will be wreckage, Daniel, and I expect you to salvage all that can be salvaged from it, primarily useful intel and our strike team’s lives.”  
“What about the Ring agents?”  
“I think we can safely say that they’ve brought this upon themselves. Carmichael out.”  
Shaw smiled, now that the safety of others was off the table. He’d done the recon, he’d done the analysis, it was time to get back in the game. Foil one of the Ring’s schemes? He could do that. It’s a beginning. If he could get Carmichael on board it might even be the end.  
***  
“Dirtnap, what’s your status?”  
“Almost at the ceremony site now, Mad Dog. Sh-uh, Stoneface was in the van when I left.”  
“Very good. I expect Perfection to signal me her location soon.”  
“How? Run her bikini up the flagpole?”  
Carmichael laughed. “Nothing so risqué, Colonel, although it would get people’s attention. She’s got FRODO with her, that should be more than enough.”  
“Frodo, that little dwarf guy?”  
“Hobbit. And no. FRODO is a little toolkit I dreamed up. Nothing fancy, but what spy wants to be fancy? It includes a homing beacon.”  
Sometimes Casey was glad Chuck was such a nerd. This was one of those times. “I’ve got Vera ready and waiting.”  
“I should have known you’d name your guns, Dirtnap.”  
“You named your gizmos.”  
“Touche.”  
Casey had to ask. “Graboid, are you still there?”  
“Graboid will come home when his wife comes home, Dirtnap,” said Mad Dog. “I promise. Proceed as planned. Mad Dog out.”  
***  
“You two, in there.”  
“I’m going, I’m going! You don’t have to push. Geez!”  
“Don’t you ever shut up?” asked Ian. His boss was off supervising the containment of the NSA whiz kid, leaving him with these two…bimbos.  
“Not that I’ve noticed,” muttered Sarah.  
He had a handkerchief and a necktie, but Prince would hurt him if he even thought about it. “Sit.”  
“Ah! Cold, cold.”  
“Be quiet.” He knelt behind them, fastening short chains to the cuffs they wore.  
“You try sitting on a metal chair in your underwear!”  
He clicked her cuffs a notch tighter. “Be. Quiet.”  
“Being quiet now.”  
“About time.” He adjusted the blankets, making sure they were covered up, because Prince would hurt him if he didn’t. Then he left.  
“You think I convinced him?”  
“That you’re a ditzy redheaded flake? Yeah, I think you convinced him.”  
“That I’m harmless, Blondie, and so are you.”  
“I noticed you taking one for the team by flirting with the cute enemy agent, and I will so note it in my report.”  
“Don’t feel you have to, not if you’re going to put it that way. These cuffs are tight! Can you do that thing you did in the car and loosen ’em up a bit, pretty please?”  
“I could but I won’t. He may come back and check. Now, at the risk of sounding like an enemy spy, be quiet. I’m counting.”  
***  
Alejandro Fulgencio Goya sat uncomfortably in the elegantly appointed dressing room of the small presentation hall offered for his use, getting made up for the presentation. Costa Gravas wasn’t exactly a friendly nation, but it was small, and this place was the best he could get in the calculus of political advantage. He had a safe conduct, and he had his guards, but sometimes even that didn’t feel like enough.  
“Excellency, we have captured an American spy.”  
This was one of those times. “Is he secured?”  
The guard nodded. “In the Lombardi room.”  
Goya frowned. Stupid American names. “I will see him now.”The presentation would be soon and he did not need this little detail hanging over his head. Plus he was bored.  
The guard opened the door and he stopped, shocked. Colonel John Casey sat, cuffed and secured to one of the flimsy chairs the room offered, with multiple guards. “The Angel de la Muerte. And in violation of your own country’s safe conduct. I wonder, Colonel Casey, which would be better, to let your country execute you for treason, or take you back and execute you myself for espionage.”  
Casey smiled.  
***  
As expected, Ian came back and made sure that Carina’s hands were turning red from the tight cuffs. He snorted with amusement and left them again.  
“That was what,” asked Sarah, “About 10 minutes?” She moved her fingers, activating Chuck’s beacon.  
“About that. Cuffs now, please.”  
“Sure.” With miraculous ease, Sarah released herself from the cuffs and knelt behind Carina, loosening the cuffs by one notch.  
“Walker! What the hell?”  
“This is no time for improvising. I’ve got a plan.” She walked away and ignored her friend’s rather inventive curses as she knelt at the lock and worked it open. Carina shut up instantly, of course, and Sarah blew her a kiss as she let herself out.  
Carina sat there, grumbling to herself and flexing her fingers. They’d gotten all stiff from the lack of blood flow earlier and she realized she wouldn’t have been of much use anyway, whatever Walker’s plan was.  
***  
Shaw’s phone buzzed, a text message with just a location. “Captain!”  
***  
Sarah moved quickly down the hall, towards the little closet where one of Prince’s other henchmen carried Anna’s bag while Ian took care of them. This lock was even easier to pick and she soon had Anna’s sticks, knife, and other things back where they belonged. She closed the door and ran down to the other room, where Anna herself had been stashed. She only opened that door enough to toss the bag on the table, and then she closed the door behind her with a thump.  
***  
Anna woke at the noise, but didn’t move or betray that fact in any way as she took stock of her situation. No one seemed to be around, so she flexed her legs and arms. Her ankles were pretty tight, but her wrists…she twisted her arms and there was more give. Back and forth, forth and back, and soon the ties on her wrists gave way with a snap. Rolling over, she looked at the room, looking for something to free her legs with, and spotted her bag. She hopped over and checked the contents, and found her knife.  
***  
Sarah snuck back into their room, closing and locking the door as Carina watched in silence. “Have fun with your little plan?”  
Sarah put the cuffs on the chair, draped the blanket around her appropriately and sat, putting the cuffs back on. “Oh, yes. A little shopping, visiting with friends, a phone call or two. Did you miss me?”  
“Why would I miss you? Friends like you, I’m better off alone.”  
“Like you would ever be alone longer than you could help it.”  
“That’s true. You’re lucky you got back before Ian.”  
“I’d think even you would hesitate at Ian,” said Sarah, as the door rattled.  
“Why? He’s single.”  
“Oh, like that makes a difference all of a sudden?” Ian walked in as her voice rose. “Suddenly you’ve grown some scruples since trying to seduce my husband?”  
“I did not try to seduce your husband!”  
“I can see where you wouldn’t want to remember it. ’Try’ is the right word, I know you didn’t bloody well succeed.”  
“Is that a dare?”  
Ian’s radio spoke at him, and he turned away gratefully. “Ian, grab that NSA bitch and bring her up here. The show’s starting.”  
“Thank God.” He walked away, locking the door.  
Sarah waited a few moments, and was rewarded by a low thump. “I think Ian’s just met Anna.”  
A few moments later, someone tried the doorknob. “Ladies, you in there?”  
“Yes, get us out of here!” called Carina.  
“You’re safer where you are,” said Anna. “These idiots left my gear out in plain sight! I’ll be right back.”  
“Bitch.”  
“She’s right,” said Sarah, freeing herself again. “You’re just upset because you haven’t killed anyone this whole mission.” She knelt and released Carina.  
“How do you do that? You don’t have a thing on you that isn’t cloth!”  
Sarah held up her hands. “Graboid calls it FRODO. It’s supposed to be an acronym but I think he made it up after the fact. It’s a bunch of fake fingernails with all sorts of useful stuff attached.”  
“Like what?”  
“Handcuff key, for one.” With a flick of her finger, she flipped it out and then back again. “And the razor I weakened Anna’s bonds with. Lockpicks, truth serum. Homing beacon.”  
“Crap, when?”  
“My last walkabout.”  
***  
“Avoid the front, that’s where the traps will be,” said Shaw. “Make your entrances here, here, and here. I’ll take the exit tunnel.”  
“How do you know there’s an exit tunnel?”  
“This is the Ring. There’s always an exit tunnel, Captain.”  
***  
“We’ve got to get out of here, they’ll be coming through the door any second.”  
“Got it covered.” Sarah peeled her two smallest nails off and stuck them together, shoving the wafer into the door lock.  
“Keyhole bomb?”  
The lock blew out. “Yep.”  
***  
“What the hell was that?” yelled Prince. “I thought the rear was secure. All our traps are at the front.”  
“The rear is secure, ma’am.”  
“Then you shouldn’t have any problem checking it out, do you, George? Go.”  
***  
Carina led the way out the door, on alert for stray guards. “Nice. Why not pick the lock?”  
“They’re not the most durable lock picks I’ve ever worked with.”  
“Can I get a set of the mark 2’s?”  
“I’ll ask Chuck to make a set with condoms.”  
“Nice.”  
They turned a corner and stumbled into the crumpled, weaponless body of George. “That bitch Anna. She’s not saving any for me.”  
Sarah rolled her eyes, and pulled a ring off her right hand. “Here.”  
“What?”  
“Part of the set. Nine fingers and the ring of doom!” Sarah make a pinch-and-toss motion with one hand. “Go make boom! somewhere.”  
“Holy crap,” said Carina, looking at the ring warily before slipping it onto her finger. “You always walk around with explosives on your hands?”  
“That’s what the tenth finger is for, so I can press an elevator button and not blow myself up.”  
***  
Premier Goya took the stage, to a polite scattering of applause. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to honor a great man…”  
The man looking at him through the sniper scope tuned out the words, uninterested in great deeds or valiant rescues. He had a job to do. The temptation to just pull the trigger now was strong, but his orders were explicit and he always obeyed orders.  
Goya held out a hand, and a velvet-covered box was placed into it. “It is my honor, to present this Medal of Valor, Costa Gravas’ highest civilian honor, to Senor Morgan Grimes.” He turned to the guest of honor, sitting on the other side of the stage.  
***  
“Remember, Grimes,” said Prince, “Wipe your hands on your pants like you’re nervous. Get that wax off the needle.”  
***  
Morgan wiped his hands against his pants and stood, turning to approach the dictator.  
The sniper flexed his finger. Now.  
A small bang!, and Goya’s chest spurted blood and he fell back, toppling the podium in his fall. The audience sat paralyzed at the sudden fall, guards and guests on stage equally paralyzed that someone struck their leader down within their very ranks.  
***  
Prince stared at the wreckage, her goal but not her plan. “Goddammit! Abort, abort!”  
***  
Only one man moved, his gun coming up on Morgan Grimes, who hadn’t moved, ready to clean up that loose end for his leader.  
Casey fired, and the assassin’s assassin fell.  
***  
Three separate holes blew in the walls.  
“Come on, Blondie! Before the cavalry arrives and I don’t get to kill anyone.” The sound of gunfire came from up ahead, several short, controlled bursts. “They got here fast!”  
“That’s not them,” said Sarah. “That’s Anna.”  
Shaw’s head emerged from the hatch of the exit tunnel.  
Someone tall flung themselves through the doorway.  
“And that’s Prince,” said Carina.  
Sydney Prince sacrificed her men to save herself, running towards the two unarmed women blocking her way to the emergency exit. No time for hostages, just kill them.  
She raised her gun.  
Someone large and strong grabbed Sarah from behind and spun her around as Prince fired. The impact on his shoulder spun him around further and he fell on his back, Sarah on top of him. She looked up and watched as Carina stepped back and let the Ring agent run by and leap into the open tunnel hatch. “She’s getting away!”  
The hatch belched out smoke and flame, and lots of dust.  
Carina held up her bare hand. “No, she’s not.”  
***  
Casey masked his face and mounted the stage, ignoring the ruckus from the floor. He walked over to the body of the fallen dictator. “Well played, Excellency. You are indeed a man of action. I got your traitor.”  
Goya opened his eyes and looked up. Several of his men hurried to assist him to his feet. “And you, Colonel Casey, are a man of your word. I hope that this is the last time you ‘assassinate’ me.”  
“I think I got it out of my system now. Hopefully this is the last we’ll see of each other.”  
***  
Sarah and Carina sat comfortably under Anna’s watchful eye as emergency personnel dealt with the fire and the wreckage. All were waiting, but for different things. Anna in particular couldn’t wait to get rid of her charges. The shock of the events had left them hopeless wrecks, muttering to voices only they could hear. It was creepy.  
As the paramedics brought out the stretcher with Shaw on it, Sarah and Carina rose and moved forward. Anna would have gone with them but a secure call on her cell phone stopped her. “Agent Ling, I am General Diane Beckman of the NSA. Report to my office immediately for debriefing.”  
“Yes, Ma’am.”  
“I understand Agent Shaw was wounded, so acquire his vehicle for the purpose.”  
“Yes, ma’am. What do I do with the two ladies?”  
Beckman sighed. “Agent Ling, we are not a taxi service. However, since the airport is on your way I suppose you may make a detour and return them to their own vehicle. Beckman out.”  
***  
Shaw vaguely remembered the two women as they approached.  
“Agent Shaw, you saved my life in there. I want to tell you personally how grateful I am. I hope you recover soon.”  
The wound was minor, but painful. He was glad of that pain. It was the first thing he’d felt in a long time. He would have felt more but he noticed her rings. “You’re most welcome, Mrs…?”  
The blonde smiled. “Carmichael, Agent Shaw. Sarah Carmichael.”  
***  
A/N2 FRODO = Fingertip Resources and Other Diabolical Oddments.


	25. Stand Up

A/N This episode occupies the same timeslot as Chuck vs. First Class. I expect the story will diverge widely, although I will try to keep what I can from the original. Shaw is not in charge, Chuck is not an agent.  
***  
 _Chuck walked into the Buy More, his home away from home, his domain, his castle…his shirt kept coming untucked! Dammit! He was assistant manager now. How could he command respect when his shirt kept untucking itself? He fumbled, trying to get the unruly ends below the beltline, but his oversized assistant manager's vest kept getting in the way.  
No one saw. No one was watching. No one was there.  
The break room. A cup of coffee sat on the table, right in front of his favorite chair. He sat, and instantly felt the squelch of super glue soaking through his pants and sticking to his legs. He couldn't stand. "Chuck!" he called, and then remembered that he was Chuck. Morgan was in Hawaii. He had no one–  
Through the window he saw Sarah, Casey, and Shaw looking in at him. Shaw shook his head. Casey sneered. Sarah…Sarah…this was her plan! She glued him to the seat! How could he get out of the car when he couldn't get out of the chair?  
"Sorry, Chuck," he heard her say, though her lips didn't move. "I'm having drinks with the Sultan later and I need to keep you safe." She turned and walked away in her fancy gown.  
"Sarah! Sarah!"_  
***  
Sarah sat next to Chuck's bed in the recovery room, as she had for the last three hours and would for the next three, or as many as need be. He wasn't moving, hadn't so much as twitched as she and Ellie had to practically pour him onto the gurney. Usually he was so stiff after a download but today he collapsed in a boneless heap even as the door opened.  
And now…nothing. Ellie had left her on watch as she contacted the General. Ellie had brought her the recordings of their mission and she had listened to them all. Ellie analyzed the telemetry and called the General again.  
Sarah waited, and watched. Sarah saw the screen blip. Sarah saw the eyes twitch.  
"Sarah!" he called weakly. "Sarah!"  
"Ellie!"  
"On my way!"  
Ellie barreled through the door, taking in all the monitors as she crossed the floor to Chuck's bedside.  
"He called my name."  
"Call his."  
"Chuck! Chuck, I'm here."  
His eyes snapped open. "Sarah! You didn't–! Don't–! I—I…"  
Sarah watched as his face lost that panicked look, his voice winding down as he became aware of the two women watching over him. "I'm right here, Chuck, I'm not going anywhere."  
He looked at her. Saw her.  
"What are you afraid of?"  
Lied to her. "I—don't remember."  
***  
"General, he's awake."  
Beckman clasped her hands in front of her, and favored Ellie with her most attentive scowl. "Yes, Doctor, I gathered that from the fact that you're calling me, and I told you to call me back when he's awake. The question is, is he Chuck?"  
"Who else would he be?"  
The General was clearly trying to use small words. "Someone who isn't Chuck, presumably."  
"Well, I'm pretty sure it is Chuck in there, General. He woke up straight out of a nightmare, and the first thing he did was ask Sarah if she's okay."  
Beckman smiled. "That certainly sounds like him to me. But if that's the case, who–more importantly where–is Charles Carmichael?"  
Ellie shrugged. "Exactly what he was created to be, the person my brother always wanted to be. Suave, successful, powerful, confident. He's a role that Chuck plays when he wants–or needs–to be more than he thinks he already is."  
"That sounded like much more than a role today, Doctor."  
"So do you, General. And so does Doctor Bartowski. We have our uniforms to add to the illusion, Chuck had a whole screen to hide himself behind. You should have seen his Perchik, and that was on stage, with just makeup."  
"Did he do the dance, too?" Beckman shook her head to clear it of the image. "Regardless, I still want it looked into."  
"Of course. I will be going over the telemetry very carefully, General, as well as interviewing Casey and Sarah."  
"Whatever for?"  
"They're the only ones with any prior experience with the Carmichael persona, back when they were his handlers, unless you count the bad guys he put away."  
"Yes, it's unfortunate that Mr. Colt died recently, his experience with Carmichael was most direct. You can review his interrogations at least. There's another that comes to my mind, but he's in Witness Protection and unavailable to us."  
"I don't think we'll need him, General. I'm pretty certain that this was all about Sarah, and Chuck was simply rising to the occasion."  
***  
"Mrs. Bartowski, for the purposes of this interview I am Dr. Woodcombe, please address me as such. I am the head researcher of the Intersect Project and primary caregiver to the man you yourself described as its CPU. I need to know what caused the extraordinary personality shift of this morning and your assistance is both requested and required. Is that clear?"  
"Very clear, Doctor Woodcombe."  
"What is your full name?"  
Pride plus pleasure equals joy. "I am Sarah Lisa Bartowski."  
"Mrs. Bartowski, you are aware that this interview is being recorded?"  
"Yes, I am."  
"You told Agent Shaw you were Sarah Carmichael?"  
"Charles told me to."  
"You were simply doing what he told you?"  
"It's hard to say no to Charles Carmichael."  
"But you can easily say no to your husband."  
"Ellie, that's not what I meant and you know it."  
"Mrs. Bartowski–"  
"Sorry. Doctor Woodcombe. Or should I call you Carmichael too?"  
"Meaning what?"  
"Eleanor Woodcombe is a person, a friend, a wife, a sister, a mother. But here we have a threat to Chuck and all of that is gone. Is it any surprise that Chuck would do the same, only in a spy mode rather than a scientist mode?"  
"So his behavior doesn't strike you as in any way unusual?"  
"God, no. I've been seeing Charles Carmichael in him from the moment I met him, although it was for the sake of a young ballerina, not me. He shushed Casey with a gesture and faced us both down for the sake of his sister, that first mission. I participated in the interrogation of Colt, so I'm not surprised to see it come out so full-blown today, any more than I am to see you so purposeful right now."  
"Have you ever interacted with Charles Carmichael?"  
"No I have not, except by radio this morning, nor do I wish to."  
"Why not?"  
"I love Chuck Bartowski. I married Chuck Bartowski. Charles Carmichael is very focused, and very cold." Too much like me. She shivered. I need warm Chuck.  
Ellie hid her smile at the motion. Thank you, Sarah."This concludes the interview." She leaned forward and turned off the recording. "We still on for the weekend?"  
"Sure." Sarah stood. "Will you be releasing Chuck soon?"  
"Uh…no, I have to interview Casey yet. Due diligence, and all that."  
"Good. Keep me informed, will you? I have his punishment to arrange. Those take time."  
Punishment? "Do I want to know?"  
"As his sister, probably not. As his primary caregiver…"  
Hands flew to cover ears. "TMI!"  
***  
"State your name and rank for the record, please."  
He'd been expecting something like this. "Colonel John Casey, United States Marine Corps."  
"Colonel, I am conducting a semi-unofficial inquiry on behalf of General Beckman, into the events of this morning and your assistance is requested. This conversation is being recorded. Do you understand?"  
"I understand."  
"Colonel, state the nature of your relationship with 'Mad Dog' Carmichael."  
Casey grunted. "It started out as a joke, I guess it still is. In the course of a mission in his own identity, the asset Chuck Bartowski prevented his cover from being blown by expanding on his cover as Charles Carmichael."  
"Expanding how?"  
"Bartowski revealed himself to the target as a Special Agent of the CIA. I was forced to go along with this charade, and embellished it further by creating the nickname, 'Mad Dog', in an attempt to convince the target of Special Agent Carmichael's ability. This was all mentioned in my report of the mission."  
"Yes, Colonel, we found the reference. In a footnote. On page twelve."  
She could hear him shrug. "It didn't seem important."  
"It wasn't. Then. It is now."  
"For what it's worth, Doctor, I didn't see anything at the time to indicate that Bartowski was doing anything other than playing a role. The way he acted yesterday is new to me, although I remember the Colt interrogations mentioning it."  
"Yes, I reviewed the tapes of those. It must have been quite the performance, too bad there are no recordings."  
"You think it was just a performance, then?"  
"You think otherwise?"  
"I never thought he was a killer, but I think he was awfully quick to abandon those men to their fates. You heard what he said to Shaw."  
"He knew his wife, and the others, knew what they could and would do in that situation. He didn't know the Ring agents or order those deaths, he just accepted them as inevitable. He's sympathetic to a fault but I can understand his apparent callousness in this context."  
Casey grunted. It could have meant anything, or nothing.  
***  
"Your analysis, Doctor?"  
"Good news, General. I've interviewed Casey and Sarah, and reviewed the interrogation of Colt. My analysis of the telemetry is only begun, and I have seen some signs of unusual brain activity, but nothing that would indicate any serious or permanent alterations. I released Chuck a few minutes ago, to complete his cover duties and return home, hopefully to rest."  
"Hopefully?"  
"Sarah had plans of some kind."  
"Hmm. Yes. I reviewed Carina's report of the mission already. Hopefully Chuck will be fit for duty tomorrow."  
"General!"  
"You're a doctor. Suck it up."  
Sigh. "Yes, ma'am." Her cell buzzed. She glanced at the text. "General, stay on the line, please. I have to make a call." Without waiting for an acknowledgement she flipped through her contacts. "Sarah, what's the emergency?"  
On the screen, Beckman suddenly focused.  
"Yes, I'm still onsite. Who? Dimples? No. I don't know anyone named–what you mean Chuck's been detained?"  
Beckman picked up her phone.  
"Okay, Sarah, we're on it. We'll see you when you get back." She ended the call, looked up to see the General on the phone but waiting for her. "General, Chuck's been arrested for assault!"  
Beckman's face went completely still. "Who?"  
"Special Agent Daniel Shaw. Chuck knocked him out cold!"  
***  
A/N2 Okay, maybe it's diverging more than I planned. Everyone who feels sorry for Agent Shaw, raise your hands. The rest of you leave comments.


	26. Stand Up

A/N Shaw is simply a humble special agent trying to take down a world-spanning conspiracy and avenge his wife’s death. It’s not like he’s psychotically evil, or anything.  
***   
_“Charles Carmichael is very focused, and very cold.”  
“I think he was awfully quick to abandon those men to their fates.”  
“I have seen some signs of unusual brain activity.”  
“General, Chuck’s been arrested for assault!”_  
***  
Discomfort reigned at Langley, and it was all Chuck Bartowski’s fault. He’d been caught brawling in the hallways. They couldn’t have that, that was FBI crap. He’d injured a Special Agent. They couldn’t have that either. Everybody knew (hey, it’s the CIA!), everybody was watching, and they couldn’t punish him.  
Fortunately the Special Agent in question, one Daniel Shaw, woke up and accepted responsibility for the affair. The charges were promptly reduced to disorderly conduct and the spilling of mop water, and Chuck was remanded to his immediate superiors for punishment.  
Tough Guy left Dimples’ office in shock, surprised to find most of his IM colleagues there awaiting the verdict. No wonder Casey loves it here. Even Sarah was there, in a seat of honor. “I have officially been reprimanded for failing in my duty. Daniel Shaw got up much too soon.”  
Pebbles nodded. “You take someone down, Tough Guy, you’re supposed to take them all the way down.”  
Tough Guy nodded in miserable dejection. “That’s what Dimples said. I’m to report to the duty officer each day, and spend part of each day sparring until my performance reaches acceptable minimums.”  
“Don’t worry, Chuck,” said Agent Sarah Carmichael, and Walker before that, his handler. “They’ll be careful.”  
The big, tough guys fell over themselves agreeing with her.   
Except Ladyfeelings. “Okay, Tough Guy. That’s the official verdict. How about unofficially?”  
Tough Guy stood up straight, slowly drew his hand from pocket, raised it to his chest, and carefully inserted Dimples’ cigar in a place of honor in his shirt pocket.  
Ladyfeelings grunted his approval as they all applauded. “That’s more like it.”  
***   
“All right, Mr. Bartowski, what happened?”  
“Daniel Shaw approached me as I was leaving the office, General. He was insistent on entering, wanted to speak with Agent Carmichael about an operation.”  
“You refused, of course.”  
“He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and the situation escalated. He tried to force his way past me.”  
“Is that when you attacked him?”  
Chuck shook his head. “I…don’t know, General. He was pushing, I was pushing back, we were both yelling, Casey was nowhere in sight, and then-then he was on the ground, and I was standing over him, and people were saying I went all kung fu on his a-, uh, anatomy. That’s all I know.”  
Beckman switched her focus. “Doctor?”  
“General, one of my goals in developing the Intersect was to separate the skills, especially the fighting skills Chuck would use in his own defense, from the data. I believe this goal has been partially achieved, although it took the stress of the last mission to make it apparent. This would account for the unusual activity I saw in the scans.”  
“Very good. The next item on the agenda then is the office. It was supposed to remain unnoticed. You were never supposed to be seen entering or leaving, Chuck, no one was.”  
“Charles Carmichael was never supposed to actually be here. Shaw wasn’t looking for the office, but the man. I guess he assumed an unused office would be a good place to start looking.”  
“Let’s send Charles Carmichael someplace far away, then, let Shaw go haring off after him. I can pull some strings if I have to but I’d rather let him go on his own. Until then, Sarah, stay close. You’ll have to run interference.”  
Sarah smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”  
Beckman smiled back. “Dismissed.”  
“We’re going home now, Chuck. I want to tell you all about my trip to Hawaii.” Sarah grabbed Chuck by the collar. “Stay close.”  
“General! Ellie! Help!”  
Both screens went blank.  
***   
“They call you ‘Tough Guy’,” someone said the next morning, in a smooth, precise voice. Chuck turned from his polishing to face Shaw, who was touching the bandage on his face. “I can see why.” He watched as Chuck slowly stood erect. “You seem a little…stiff.”  
So do you. “Rough night.” Chuck looked around, noted all the people not watching them. “Are we supposed to be within a thousand yards of each other, sir?”  
Shaw smiled. “No hard feelings, Chuck. You did the right thing, I’m only surprised you did it so well. I’d like to take you to lunch, if you don’t mind?” He gestured.  
It would be public, of course. “The CIA Commissary?” Shaw nodded. “You must have deep pockets. I can barely afford the vending machines in there.” Help.  
***   
Shaw chose the table (good view of the room, back to the wall), but Chuck chose his chair, watching as the room slowly filled and emptied. “Can I just cut to the chase, Agent Shaw? You still want to pump me for information about Mr. Carmichael. I must say I appreciate your technique better this time.” The food was better than he normally got to eat.  
“Mister—what do they call you besides ‘Tough Guy’?”  
“Call me Chuck.”  
“Okay, Chuck. I asked you to lunch to apologize for last time. I was hasty, and rude.”  
“Must have been important. You don’t even look like that hurt.”  
“It does, and it is. What you lack in finesse you make up in enthusiasm.”  
“I meant the apology.”  
“Embarrassment is a luxury I can’t afford. My hasty rudeness has cost me another day, and time is pressing. If you could help me contact Agent Carmichael, it would be–“  
Just then, Chuck laughed, a machine-gun, rapid-fire, braying laugh completely unlike the sounds he normally made. Across the room, a somewhat portly man named Sam reacted to the noise, looking about covertly. “You’re kidding, right?” said Chuck, not seeming aware of Sam’s presence. “You want me to tell tales out of school about Agent Walker’s husband? He tore strips out of an NSA Major over a parking space.” Sam looked up, caught his eye.  
Shaw looked a little confused by the slight jog in the conversation. “Not at all. I want to contact him about an operation.”  
Chuck didn’t answer, more interested in Sam as he talked into his phone. Plus the food was good, it would be a shame to ignore it.  
Thrust. “Would you mind indulging my curiosity, Chuck?”  
Parry. “I will if you’ll indulge mine.”  
Feint. “If I can. Most of the things I have to talk about aren’t fit topics for cafeteria conversation.”  
“Why are you pretending to be left-handed?”  
“I…beg your pardon?”  
“You eat like a leftie but comb your hair, wear your watch, and tie your tie like a rightie. What gives?”  
Shaw saluted his guest’s astuteness with a toast, and a graceful surrender. “I was wounded recently. Right shoulder.”  
Nothing about why. Interesting. “You took a bullet in your right shoulder, saving the life of Mrs. Carmichael when she was practically defenseless. It’s because of that that I’m talking to you at all. Ask your question.” Hopefully she’ll get here before I have to answer it.  
Shaw abandoned any pretense of eating. “Why do you, alone of all the people in Langley, have access to Agent Carmichael’s office?”  
“Because my husband looks after his own,” said Sarah Walker, striding up to their table. “And so do I.”  
“I wasn’t saying anything, Agent Walker.”  
“I know you weren’t, Chuck. Good boy.”  
Shaw stood. “My apologies if I overstepped my bounds–”  
Sarah smiled, and they sat down together. “You did, Mr. Shaw, but no apologies are needed. Charles made it possible for Chuck to keep people’s distance for them, as you discovered.” She ran her fingers through Chuck’s curly hair, him not even trying to fight her off. “We owe you a favor as well, Mr. Shaw, but you’re trying our patience.”  
He held up his empty hands, placatingly. “I have an operation I can’t do myself.”  
Sarah sighed, and stood. “Say goodbye to the nice man, Chuck.”  
Chuck instantly stood up and stuck out his hand. “Thank you for the nice lunch, Mr. Shaw. Good luck with your operation.”  
Shaw stood and shook his hand. “Thanks, Chuck. I’ll see you around, I guess.”  
“Now, Chuck,” said Sarah. As he passed her out the door, she turned back to her former host. “Word to the wise, Agent Shaw. Keep your distance.”  
Shaw sat and finished his lunch, satisfied.  
Once around the corner she asked, “Flash drive?”  
Chuck shook his head. “Microdot. Class act, that guy.”  
***  
“You’re going to Paris? Without me?”  
“What can I say, Chuck? That’s the mission. Discover the courier, get the key, return to DC with said key. No sightseeing.”  
“No Eiffel Tower?”  
“I climbed it once, so the romance may have worn off for me.”  
“I’d let you borrow mine, if I was coming.”  
Borrow his what? It couldn’t be the skills, Ellis hadn’t signed off on those yet. It couldn’t be the data, he wouldn’t have any. Oh–! “Chuck, I told you, no honeymoon couple.”  
“Why not? It’s not like we’ve already had one.”  
“Because…because someday we’ll get there for real, and I don’t want to spoil it.”  
He smiled. “Hey! I got you a present!”  
God, he was so…sweet! “Chuck, you already gave me some nunchuks, what more does a girl need?”  
“This!” He put a small box in her hands, and she opened it.  
“A pen and…eyeglasses set?” There had to be more to it than that. “A KGB knockout pen, and my camera glasses.”  
“Your _sexy_ camera glasses, and the camera is in the pen, along with a transceiver, so I can see what it sees with you. No knockout drops, I’m afraid. Oo, and check this out!” He touched the pen to the earpiece, and it stuck. “Magnetized! You can put the pen behind your ear facing either way, free your hands for dirty work, and build up your nerd-cred all at the same time!”  
She shook her head, putting his little doodads in her pockets. He was so…cute when he was being all nerdy.  
***   
She squirmed in her seat, considerably less charmed by her husband’s cuteness than she been mere hours before. Is every flight going to be like this? At least he hadn’t kissed her. Sighing, she took her book of Sudoku puzzles and headed off to the bathroom for the first of many visits on a trans-Atlantic flight. Once safely locked in she attached the pen to her glasses, got out her second pen, and wrote “I’m going to kill you!” on the back of the book. A second later the screen flashed ‘:(’ and she felt a bit better. Then she read the instructions on how to actually solve a Sudoku, since her cover required it and the flight would be long.  
At least her seatmate wasn’t too bad. Chuck’s only reaction to Hannah’s image was to say “Cute!”, whereupon Sarah had pointed the camera in some other direction. Sarah had never played the ‘Guess the Passenger’ game, but when Hannah started she used it as an excuse to point her pen. Apparently Chuck knew the game, though, on the third try he’d figured it out and sent ‘Yale Fencing Team’ over the screen just in time for Sarah to sound like a genius.  
Or maybe they were the Yale Fencing Team.  
Unfortunately they couldn’t see the whole compartment from where they were. Several passengers had already put up their privacy screens which blocked her view. The bathrooms were forward, but she needed an excuse to go aft. The bar! Perfect.  
Hannah was thirsty. Terrific. Well, on the bright side, she wouldn’t be sitting there alone looking at people, like some kind of spy. Fortunately Sarah knew enough about Paris, and far too much about the damned Eiffel Tower, to not sound like a yokel. She dragged out their chat, nursing her drink as best she could, but with the sign off everyone was feeling free to move about the cabin, and she had trouble finding passengers she hadn’t seen before.  
“Another?” asked Hannah.  
Sarah shook her head. “Only one per flight, that’s my rule.”  
Hannah shook her head. “Waste of a good First Class perq, if you ask me.”  
As Hannah signaled to the stewardess-turned-bartender, Sarah looked idly past her. Suddenly images flashed on her screen, names and vital statistics. Hugo Panzer, Ring Agent and vastly more than a mere courier. Not to mention almost as big as Colt, and she was going to have to go through him to get the key. She scribbled a quick message on her napkin with her second pen.   
“Note to self: Kill Daniel Shaw!”  
***  
A/N2 Time for the next commercial break. Feel free to move about the cabin. And maybe leave a comment as you go.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N Taking Hannah in a bit of a different direction in this story. Not for her sake so much as Sarah’s.  
***   
_“Let’s send Charles Carmichael someplace far away, then.”  
“They call you ‘Tough Guy’.”  
“Say goodbye to the nice man, Chuck.”  
“Note to self: Kill Daniel Shaw!”_  
***  
“Sarah, can I ask you a question?” asked Hannah.  
Sarah nodded.  
Hannah pointed. “Are you really married, or is that just the standard beautiful woman’s ploy to avoid being hit on?”  
 _Why? Don’t I look it?_ “Very married,” said Sarah, looking down at the rings on her hand. “Very happy. Why do you ask?”  
“Most women I’ve ever met who are ‘very married and very happy’ can’t stop talking about it. We’ve been in the air an hour now and I haven’t heard you mention your husband once, and now you’re saying you want to kill Daniel Shaw.” Hannah pointed at Sarah’s napkin. “I’m guessing he’s not your husband.”  
Sarah smiled, amused at the idea of stolid, passionless Shaw being anyone’s husband, much less hers. “No, he’s just a colleague. My husband’s name is Chuck.”  
“Chuck? Do parents still name their kids that?”  
Sarah tried to look insulted, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “He goes by ‘Charles’ for professional reasons. We like to keep our private lives private.”  
“So you’re on this flight for professional reasons?”  
Time to change the subject. “I wouldn’t be in first class if I wasn’t. I’m not that kind of girl.”  
Hannah downed her drink in a gulp. “Who is? This is my last trip in this cabin, too. I’m flying back to Paris to clean out my office.”  
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Who did you work for?”  
“Private investor. I was his resident computer geek and tech whiz, he would fly me all over the world to look after his interests. Guess he decided he couldn’t afford me anymore.” She signaled for another drink.  
“I hope you’ll be all right.”  
“You mean money?” Hannah waved a hand. “I’ve got money, he invested for me, too. It’s just, I thought he valued me, you know. He sent me first class because he valued me. I could fly first class myself but what would be the point?” Her drink arrived, and she tossed back a good bit. “But no, it was about him, always him, his reputation. Men.”  
“I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt that not all men are like that.”   
“Because of your Charles-but-my-friends-call-me-Chuck? I’m very happy for you. I’m sure he’s a saint.”  
“He’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”  
“And here you are, flying to Paris alone.”  
Sarah touched her glasses. I’m not alone. “If Shaw hadn’t tricked me into taking this flight I’d be with him right now. I’m the one who has to work at it here. I’m the one who’s undeserving.”  
“Hey!” Hannah pointed a slightly wavering finger at her seatmate. “Don’t you ever sell yourself short like that. Too many people willing to do that already. You think it’s a coincidence we’re the only women in this cabin?” Another one bit the dust.  
“Perhaps we should go back to our seats.” Perhaps we should get away from the bar.  
“Oh, you think I want to go to Paris alone? Clean out my office and take a coach flight home sober? When he’s paying for my drinks? That’s a win-win in my book.”  
Sarah put her hand on Hannah’s glass. “I’ve been numb. It doesn’t help.”  
Hannah pulled the glass out from under. “It’ll help today.” The stewardess took the glass.  
“It’s your tomorrow I’m worried about.”  
“It’s too late,” said a gruff voice from behind Hannah. Hugo Panzer stood there, waiting for his own drink and looking on dispassionately. “The effects of alcohol are enhanced by high altitude and lower cabin pressure, sometimes as much as three hundred percent. Given her lower mass, I’m afraid your friend is already gone, she just hasn’t gotten there yet.”  
“She’s not my friend,” said Hannah, wrapping her fingers around Sarah’s glass.   
“I am your friend, Hannah,” said Sarah, gripping the other woman’s arm. “This is what friends do for each other.”  
“Let go!” Hannah jerked her hand back, splashing the contents of the glass all over Panzer’s shirt. She went from combative to shocked instantly. “Oh, gosh! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She grabbed Sarah’s napkin and started wiping up Sarah’s drink, starting at the top of his shirt and working her way down.  
“I think I can handle the rest,” he said when she got to his waist, taking the napkin from her. “Your friend is right, you need to get back to your seat.” He swept her up easily. “Watch my drink,” he told Sarah.   
“I’ll put it by your seat.”  
He nodded, and carried Hannah down the aisle, following her slurred directions. If anybody thought it was odd nobody was about to say anything.  
Sarah thought it was Heaven-sent. The second he was gone she took his drink to his seat as promised, pulled out his claim ticket and scanned it with her pen before putting it back and heading over to join them at her own seat. “Thanks. You’ve been a real gentleman.”  
He gave her a curt nod and was gone.  
Sarah grabbed her book of puzzles and stood up.   
“Sure, time to go potty,” mumbled Hannah. “I do all the drinking and you do all the peeing. What are you, pregnant or something?”  
Definitely ‘or something’. “I’ll be right back.” Sarah put her book down and walked forward, to the water cooler. She put the cup in the holder at her seat and got a small bottle of pills from her pocket. “Here,” she said, handing Hannah the pill and the water. “Take this. It’ll ease your inevitable hangover.” The pill would do more than that, it prevented the inebriation in the first place, but Hannah had no need to know that.  
Hannah took them. “You are my friend.”  
“Yes, Hannah, I’m your friend.” Puzzle book in hand, Sarah left her seatmate to doze while she sought out the nearest access to the cargo hold. She aimed her pen at the lock and was rewarded with a series of numbers to unlock the elevator. She wrote ‘license plate’ on her book and scanned it before getting on the elevator. A string of letters appeared, the baggage claim ticket for Panzer’s luggage. She had it memorized before the elevator stopped.  
Oh, great. Pallets of luggage, stacked and webbed. Hopefully Panzer’s bag wasn’t in the middle of one.  
***   
Hugo Panzer sat in his seat, not quite enjoying his well-watered Scotch. He preferred it neat, but he also knew a lot more about the effects of alcohol at high altitude than Tiny Upset Lady did. He put the glass back in the holder, wiping the water from his fingers with a crumpled up napkin.  
***   
Sarah was getting sore, stretching high and bending low, so many bags and tags, including her own. There had to be a better way than this. She stood and stretched, looking around. What’s that? Something silver, something different. A casket! Customs didn’t search caskets, did they? No they didn’t. And what do you know, the tags match!  
Okay, a real dead, real old guy. In the pockets? She patted him down gently but there was nothing. Where would it be that someone could just reach in and get? She gripped the sleeve and flipped over the top hand. Bingo! And Eww!  
She stuck the key in her pocket and stood. The camera behind her ear stopped showing her the image of the ceiling. Instead she saw the image of Hugo Panzer, just as he started to strike.  
***   
Chuck yelled “Sarah!” as the screen went black.   
“Chuck, you’re spiking!”  
“Ellie, Panzer’s got Sarah.”  
***   
Panzer possibly had Sarah, but Sarah definitely had good reflexes and a pair of nunchuks, and she knew how to use them against unarmed, very large men. This very large man quickly learned to stay out of range. “Daniel Shaw, huh?” he said, holding up her napkin. He crumpled it for effect. “We didn’t know he had a partner. He won’t soon.” He reached into a block of luggage and pulled out a short sword. “Why don’t you come over here and I’ll make this quick. You must know those sticks have no chance against a sword.”  
If Sarah had been trying to defeat him with her sticks he might have been right. Instead she fought a purely defensive battle, using the sticks to deflect his thrusts as she danced around him. Twice he tried to block her into a corner with his bulk, twice she squeezed past him.  
“I can do this all day, little lady,” he said, not even breathing hard. “You haven’t even touched me.”  
Sarah swung her hand at the last strap on the pallet next to her, the razor edge of the fingernail parting it with ease. Third time was the charm. Hugo went down under an avalanche of baggage. “Haven’t been trying to,” she said, watching him struggle, dazed. She stepped forward, swinging her sticks for the coups de grace.  
***   
“Chuck, what’s happening? Your vitals have gone down.”  
“It’s all right, Ellie.” Chuck blew a kiss to his wife, not that she’d be able to see it but he could at least see her. She turned the pen to show Panzer, unconscious and restrained. “Sarah’s got Panzer. And the key.”  
***   
Sarah stopped by the bathroom for a quick touch-up before going back to her seat. It wouldn’t do to look like she’d just been through a major brawl with a human tank. She found her new friend, up and alert and looking uncomfortable. “How you doing? Sober?”  
“Stone cold. Don’t feel good,” said Hannah. “Stomach hurts.”  
“Really?” Her pills shouldn’t have made her feel nauseous.  
“Your drink didn’t help.”  
Sarah looked down at a glass in her seat’s holder. “I didn’t order any drink. I told you, only one per flight.”  
“I know that. I figured you wouldn’t want so I drank it myself. It tasted terrible, how can you drink that?”  
“Which stewardess?” Sarah looked around.  
“I don’t know, they all look alike,” said Hannah, groaning. “She said it was from the man in 22-B.”  
22-b was Panzer’s seat. Somehow Sarah doubted that he’d sent her a drink as a gesture of gratitude. Sarah grabbed Hannah’s arm, threw it over her shoulder and lifted the smaller woman out of her seat. “Come on, Hannah.”   
“Where are you taking me?” A stewardess moved to intercept them.  
“We’ve got to get you to a bathroom before you throw up all over the seats.” The stewardess moved out of her way. Sarah slammed the door open, dropped Hannah on the toilet seat and slammed the door shut again.  
Hannah doubled over, clutching her stomach. “I said pain, not nausea.”  
“I know you did,” said Sarah. “In an hour, you’ll be in more pain than you can possibly imagine.”  
Hannah looked up. “Huh?”  
Sarah knelt, trying to gentle the coming blow. “You’re not sick, Hannah. You’ve been poisoned.”  
“Why would someone poison me?”  
“They didn’t. They were trying to poison me, but you drank it first. And to save you the effort of asking why someone would poison me, I’ll tell you: I’m with the CIA.”  
***  
A/N2 Time for the next commercial break. Feel free to move about the cabin. And maybe leave a comment as you go.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N Just so you know, this is not femslash. Sarah could use a friend, and Hannah is an awful lot like Chuck.  
***   
_“She’s not my friend.”  
“Panzer’s got Sarah.”  
“Stomach hurts.”   
“I’m with the CIA.”_  
***  
Hannah looked at Sarah with pain in her eyes. Sarah hoped it was just her stomach. “You’re a spy?”  
“Agent, yes.”  
“You were spying on me?” No, not just her stomach.  
“No, not at all. I was just sitting next to you. I tried to stay as far from you as I could.” I wanted to keep you safe.  
“And I followed you. Serves me right.” She folded over in a sudden spasm. “Am I going to die now?”  
“Not if I can stop it. I don’t let my friends die.”  
Hannah’s head came up. “Friends?” Were we ever…? Are we still…?  
“If you still want to be. I wasn’t lying to you, out there. Well, not about that.”  
Someone knocked on the door. “Can I help you?”  
Sarah opened the door. “No, thank you, we’re–”  
The stewardess pointed a small gun into Sarah’s face.  
***   
“Sarah!”  
“Chuck?”  
“Ellie!”  
***  
“Well, we were fine.”  
“I want the key.”  
“I want the antidote.”  
The stewardess looked shocked. “You’d give up the key to save a civilian?”  
“No, I just said I wanted the antidote. I’d prefer not to have to kill you to get it.” Unfortunately, the room they were in was too small for Sarah to act effectively. She could go for the gun but the stewardess was close enough that she couldn’t miss, and if she did miss the only thing left to hit was the plane itself. She had to get some room to maneuver. “Fine, you win. I hid it down below. Give her the antidote and I’ll show you where.”  
“You show me where and I’ll give her the antidote before I shoot you. Mess with me and you’ll both watch each other die in agony.”  
“I’ve had better offers.”  
“Today?”  
“Unfortunately, no.” Sarah leaned toward Hannah and lifted her arm over her shoulder again. “Time to go.”  
This wasn’t going according to plan. “You’re bringing the civilian?”  
“Is that any business of yours?”  
“Fine. Burden yourself. See if I care.”  
***   
“Hello again, Mr. Panzer. Did I mention how I thought you were such a gentleman earlier?” Sarah released Hannah’s arm, allowing the brunette to settle herself down on a piece of luggage left strewn about.  
“If you did, I’ve forgotten it. Concussions have that effect on short-term memory.”  
“I thought you were a professional. Don’t tell me you’re holding a grudge?”  
Panzer smacked her across the face, sending the glasses flying. “No. I let my grudges go at the earliest opportunity.”  
***   
Not again.  
Chuck saw the blow coming, and flinched on his wife’s behalf. The screen went all static-y for a second, the electronics in the pen not at all meant for such abuse.  
***   
Sarah didn’t flinch, the force of the blow turned her head to watch as Hannah caught the glasses. Slowly, she turned her head back towards Panzer, one finger lightly stroking the side of her nose, where the glasses had hit hardest. “You’re going to regret that.”  
“Am I?”  
***   
Ellie’s screens were in turmoil. “Chuck, what’s going on in there?”  
Chuck was busy with his monitor. “I’m sorry, Charles Bartowski is not in right now–”  
“If you say ‘beep’ I swear I will break down that door and kill you myself!”  
***   
Panzer reached out and grabbed Sarah’s arm, hauling her to stand between the two Ring agents. “You’re alone, CIA. All you’ve got is a poisoned civilian for backup. No one in this whole plane knows we’re even here.”  
“You’re so right,” said Sarah. “And so wrong. I am CIA, but I’m not alone.”  
Panzer smirked. “She’s all yours, Serena.”  
The stewardess grabbed at her. “Enough talk, CIA. Give me the key.” She raised her gun and aimed at Sarah’s right eye. In the other hand she held a small bottle. “Or perhaps I’ll just let this fall and watch your friend die, for the fun of it.”  
***  
The screen came back into focus. Hannah’s face, distorted by interference. No, that wasn’t interference. That was pain. That was fear. And she could only be looking at one thing.  
Ellie’s screen’s flatlined.   
“Chuck? Are you all right?”  
Charles was upping the gain, disabling the overrides, and tearing out the hardwired buffers with his bare hands. “I’m fine, Eleanor. Really.”  
***   
“One last chance,” said Sarah. “Give her the antidote, and you won’t get hurt.”  
Serena burst out laughing, followed by Panzer. Her face hardened. “Any last words, CIA?”  
“Sure,” said Sarah, with a sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  
***   
Charles pressed a button.  
***   
The pen in Hannah’s hand began to heat up, as it received a far more intense signal than it had been designed for. The damaged glasses spread the signal, down in the hold. Outside the insulation that protected the plane’s sensitive electronics from cell phone signals. There’s a reason they don’t want cell phones on planes.  
The plane went into a dive.  
Sarah caught her hand on the webbing of the pallet nearest her, lashing out at the hand holding the gun with her foot, before Serena could do something stupid like fire it and possibly kill them all. The pistol went flying, but Sarah caught the bottle.  
Hugo Panzer braced himself against the sudden acceleration, and lurched into motion to help his partner.  
Hannah’s fingers hurt as the pen began to burn, just as Panzer stepped in front of her. She fell forward, pen in hand, driving it as hard as she could into his leg.   
Behind Serena, the unlocked coffin lid flipped open.  
Sarah shifted her grip, and with a second kick sent Serena stumbling backward to land, sprawled atop the body. Panzer, in sudden agony, lost control and barely kept his balance as he stumbled the length of the hold, slamming into a distant pallet. Hannah dropped the pen and curled into a ball as luggage started to fall around her.  
One of them hit the pen and smashed it. The plane righted itself as the interference stopped.  
Serena opened her eyes, staring down into the cold, dead face. The lid of the coffin dropped on the beginning of her scream. Panzer rebounded off the pallet and stumbled back up the aisle, tripping over the coffin. Sarah seized the handle of a piece of hard-shell luggage and gave him another concussion. He sagged over the coffin, trapping his partner within.  
“Hannah?” Sarah called, and her friend squirmed her way out from under some bags. “Drink this.” She handed her the bottle. “I need you to do me a favor.”  
The antidote tasted worse than the poison, but that wasn’t Sarah’s fault either. The settling in her stomach, the end of pain, that was something her friend had done for her. “Name it.”  
Sarah handed her the damaged pen. “I need to get a signal out.”  
Hannah took it, astonished at the circuitry within. “Um…one question.”  
“Yeah?”  
She looked at the coffin, grimacing at the muffled shrieks. “You gonna let her out of there anytime soon?”  
Sarah sighed. “I’m thinking about it.”  
***   
Ellie’s monitors beeped. “Chuck?”  
“Yes, Ellie?”  
“Is everything all right in there?”  
Charles smiled, turning off the monitor that had just flashed an image of his wife’s smiling face before going dark again. “Yes, Ellie. We’re fine.”  
***   
The plane touched down, rousing Hannah from her ‘oh my god what just happened’ stupor. She looked out the window, all the familiar sights suddenly unfamiliar. “So what happens now?”  
Sarah stretched, these seats were just too, too comfortable. “Well, unless I miss my guess, I would expect a team of agents stationed here in Paris to have been alerted by Charles to come on board and take our two friends away. I would further expect that when the plane turned around and flew home I would still be on it, since my mission is done and they’ll be wanting to talk to me about things.” And I’ll be wanting to talk to Mr. Shaw about a lot of things!  
“You can’t stay, hang out a bit?” Keep me company?  
“I’ve seen Paris,” said Sarah, and Hannah slumped. “The hard parts, at least. If you want to know what the outside of the Eiffel Tower looks like I can describe it in excruciating detail.” Then she thought of Chuck. “But my husband’s never seen Paris, and he wants to, very much. So I’ll come back with him when we finally get time for a honeymoon, and maybe I’ll see the sweet parts then.”  
“I’m sorry I said what I said about him, before. I’m sure he really is a saint.” He’d have to be.  
“I doubt you’ll ever meet him, but you’re right. He’s so much better than–”  
“Hey!”  
“I know, I know, don’t sell myself short.”  
“Better.” The plane lurched to a halt, and Hannah discovered that they had taxied up to the terminal and she’d completely missed it. The journey was over. When the stewardess started her announcements, she stood, like all the other passengers except one.  
Sarah didn’t move at all. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”  
Hannah looked down, to see the strangest, saddest expression on her friend’s face. “Why not?”  
Sarah pointed at the seat, and Hannah settled back into it. “Why do you think?”  
***   
“No, Chuck, we’re not going to throw her into a bunker,” said General Beckman patiently. “But she has, however inadvertently, gotten mixed up in our business, and she will need to be debriefed, at the very least. After that, we’ll have to see.”  
“General, she had to be the one who fixed the pen long enough to send us even that brief flash at the end. In a cargo hold, with no tools. That’s got to count for something.”  
“It does, Mr. Bartowski. But the plane hasn’t even landed yet so no promises.” Her monitor went black.  
“Did I ever mention that this was an unfair life?”  
“Yes, Chuck, many times,” said Ellie. “But why would you want fair, Chuck? ‘Unfair’ equals opportunity. Without occasions to rise to, how can you rise to them? ‘Unfair’ is the mother of greatness, Charles.”  
Then I’m Superman. “It’s also the mother of roadkill, Eleanor.” No, not Superman. Superman could never have been roadkill. Batman, now there’s a hero!  
“Ready for download?”  
***   
“Hey Chuck,” said Devon as he answered the door early the next morning. “I hope you’re not here for Ellie, she’s still sleeping off the last all-nighter you guys put her through.”  
“Yes, so’s Sarah. That’s why I’m here, this seemed like a good time to get in a good run. If you’re up for it, that is.”  
Devon smiled. He was always up for a good run. “Sure thing, bro. Come on in, and I’ll go get my gear. What’s that?”  
He held up a bottle. “I’ve been experimenting with protein shakes, Big Guy. They don’t have to taste like roadkill, you know.”  
“Outstanding! Stick it in the fridge, we’ll have some when we get back.”  
“Sure thing,” said Charles.  
***  
A/N2 The flatline scene is a shout-out to the terrific beginning of the finale from the movie Equilibrium: www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=y_JGI0JhCkQ


	29. Sparring Partners

A/N This should be in the same timeslot as Nacho Sampler, but there really isn’t a lot of that episode to carry over into this story, which makes it a lot harder to right. I’ll just have to advance other plot points for a while. And wallow in some Charah for a bit.  
I also got attacked by the conclusion of my fourth novel, Ghostkiller, and had to write that down as quickly as I could, so this story is a bit off my usual schedule. Sorry about that. I have no intention of dropping this series until the season is done, so I’ve got a way to go yet.  
***   
_“You’re a spy?”  
“I’m sorry, Charles Bartowski is not in right now–”  
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”   
“‘Unfair’ is the mother of greatness, Charles.”_  
***  
“Oooh, God, that feels so good,” Chuck moaned as Sarah bore down on him yet again. He was shirtless, of course, to make it easier for her to slide her fingers, slick with sweat and…other things, over the smooth skin of his torso. She still wore her top, although it was so damp and clingy from sweat and… other things, that she may as well not have. Only the sheets, covering his legs and bunched about her waist as she straddled him, offered any semblance of modesty.  
The TV at the foot of the bed came to life, but neither of them was looking that way at the moment. “I hope you’ve at least got the blinds drawn,” said General Beckman to Sarah’s back.  
Sarah turned her head. “I’m just giving him a massage, General.” She pivoted off of her husband, dragging the sheets away to reveal Chuck, prone and smeared with oils. “Get up, honey, it’s the General.”  
“Cruel, cruel woman,” he groaned. It wasn’t clear whom he was referring to. “Do I have to move?”  
Beckman raised her voice. “This is not a view of you that I appreciate, Mr. Bartowski.”  
“Gah!” Chuck rolled over and sat up, suddenly realizing that his boss was staring at his feet, pajama bottoms, and…other things. “Sorry, General, I was…really out of it there.”  
Sarah took pity on them both. “Chuck’s been on punishment detail ever since the incident with Shaw, General.”  
The general squinted at him. “Are those bruises?”  
“Yes, Ma’am.”  
“I’ll have a word with his superior.”  
“Don’t worry about it, ma’am,” said Sarah, “I’d already planned a visit of my own.” They were told to take it easy on him. “He comes home very stiff and my massages are very…therapeutic.”  
“I’m sure they are, Agent Bartowski, but in future I would appreciate it if you would treat them with the same degree of discretion as your other bedroom activities and engage the privacy screen.”  
“Yes, Ma’am.”  
“My eyes thank you.”  
“Do you have a mission for us, General?” asked Chuck.  
Beckman seemed relieved. “I have a mission, Mr. Bartowski, but not for you. The Ring has been active in LA–”  
“Please not another flight,” whispered Sarah, already regretting the massage.  
“Not for you, Sarah. This time I’m dispatching Colonel Casey and Agent—what is Carina’s last name, anyway?”  
Sarah made a face. “Miller is safest.”  
Beckman gave a ‘whatever’ sort of sigh. “I’m sending them to LA to extract a young MIT dropout who’s been receiving Ring money. The team there will apprehend him and turn him over to us.”  
“So you’re sending Casey and his beautiful partner to LA to extract a geek who appears to be on the verge of intercepting vital government secrets, if he hasn’t already?”  
“Yes, Chuck, that sums up the situation admirably.”  
“You’re still upset you missed the wedding, aren’t you?”  
Beckman’s scowling face disappeared.  
“I don’t think Carina will be falling in love with him, sweetie,” said Sarah, kissing him. “Sleep with him, yes, especially the way I’ve been going into such spectacular detail about your exploits in–”  
He pulled back. “My exploits? I have exploits?” He shook his head, regained his focus. “You’ve been talking to the Calendar Girl about us?”  
She pulled back. “Calendar Girl?”  
“You know.” She clearly didn’t, so he explained, “Another day, another–”  
Sarah clapped her hands over her ears. “La-la-la-la I’m not listening!” He grinned at her, and she dropped her hands. “And no, Chuck, I haven’t said anything at all. That’s the beauty of it. Everything I don’t say leaves room for her to use her imagination, which I’m sure is very lurid, vivid, and more detailed than anything I could invent.”  
“Hmmm!” Chuck wriggled his eyebrows. “Devilish thing, imagination.” He leered at her damp shirt. “Let’s use some.”  
She peeled the top off. “I’d rather use the shower.” She walked away, shedding clothes.  
“For the win!”  
***   
Chuck woke the next day, feeling very pleased with himself. Something about flying left Sarah still up in the air at the end, lately, but last night he’d managed to bring her back down to Earth in spite of the pain in his back. He smiled, almost laughed, but he didn’t want to disturb the naked and pleasantly damp blonde currently spread all over him. ‘Therapeutic?’ That was one word for it. Fortunately that was General Beckman on the line last night, otherwise he’d never have been able to roll over!  
“Thinking about Beckman?”  
No surprise that she was awake, but— “How’d you guess?”  
She put her hand on the center of his chest. “Your heart rate hasn’t gone down, but something else has.”  
“You know me so well.”  
She slid her hand down his body. “Some things are harder to miss than others.”  
“Hello?” groaned Chuck. “Work day?”  
“Yes, and…?”  
He rolled out of bed before she could tighten her grip. “I have to take a shower.”  
She lay there, uncovered, watching him move stiffly away from her. “We just took a shower last night.”  
“I know, and when we take a shower I end up all sweaty again.” He sniffed at himself. “Plus I smell like vanilla.” He got some new clothes and headed for the bathroom. She lay there, amazed, until she heard him start to sing. She didn’t recognize the song, no surprise there, but it seemed to have a lot of ‘forever’s in it.  
She got up, swooped on a robe, and left to make noise in the kitchen.  
***   
Chuck strolled into the kitchen, fully dressed in his workday casual-est, to find her still in her robe with his breakfast in hand. “Wow. Either you’re taking casual Friday a little too far, which I doubt, since today’s not Friday, or I need to find out where you get your schedules from.”  
She placed his food on the table. “No new schedule. I’m on escort duty today.”  
“You have a mission? Ow!” He rubbed his arm where she hit him as he sat.  
“Not that type of escort, doofus, especially not now that I’m married.” Something else to be thankful for. “I’m escorting the new girl, Hannah, getting her settled in around the office.” A familiar face for her first day.  
“She decided to join?”  
“Better than WitSec. Plus it seems she got a personal recommendation from Charles Carmichael.”  
He shrugged. “Well, if I ever see her around, I’ll say hi.”  
“You’d better not,” said Sarah sharply.  
“You’re getting jealous now?”  
Of course not! “The less reason she has to connect Chuck Bartowski and Charles Carmichael, the better.”  
“I’m not saying anything, Agent Walker.”  
She ran her fingers through his hair. “I know you’re not, Chuck. Good boy.”  
“Well, this good boy’s gonna be late if he doesn’t get a move on.” He started eating faster, while still making sure to enjoy every bite as required by his ferocious cook.  
***   
He needn’t have hurried. “What do you mean we’re not doing an upload today? I’m the Intersect, that’s my job.”  
Ellie gave him a sympathetic look. “I know, Chuck, but I’m concerned about the calibration of my equipment. I figured since the only mission anyone’s on right now is a simple pick-up, this would be a good time to check the system.”  
“A simple pick-up? You remember what happened with the last ‘simple pick-up’ we did? What if they need back-up? Sarah got back-up. What kind of a message does that send?”  
“It sends a message that you think Casey is a big boy and can take care of himself.”  
“But Ellie–”  
“The answer is ‘No’, Chuck.”  
Chuck knew better than to argue with her in Big Sister mode. When he cleared the facility her screen lit up. “Well, Doctor?”  
“He wasn’t happy about it. I’m not happy about it.”  
“That makes three of us, Ellie, but this was your idea in the first place. I can only give you a few days. We need him online.”  
Not for the first time Ellie wondered about the arrangement they had. “Yes, General.” Beckman clicked off, and Ellie got to work.  
***   
Sarah got to work a bit after Chuck, timing it so he would not be in the room when she got there.  
A polite tap on the door got Dimples’ attention the way nothing else could have. None of his guys would do that. “What can I do for you, Agent Carmichael?” He raised his head to look at her.  
Sarah bristled. “That’s Bar—right, yes. Carmichael will do. Moving on.” She took a breath. “I was hoping to talk to you about Chuck’s punishment duty.”  
“That’s good, Agent Carmichael, I wanted to talk to you about it as well.” Dimples looked at her with an expression of grave concern. “I know you and your husband want to keep him safe, but do you think you can get Tough Guy to take it easy? He’s beginning to wear out the rest of the guys.”  
***   
When Bartowskis are upset, they clean. Barred from the lab, Chuck took out his anxieties on the rooms full of helpless porcelain awaiting his attentions. In the second floor west men’s, his phone went off. “Bartowski.”  
“Hey, Tough Guy, you tackle that stain in the second floor west men’s yet?”  
“Casey! How’d you know?”  
“Lucky guess.“  
“This is what you called me for?”  
“No. I called to tell you that I have a renewed appreciation of your skills, Bartowski. I just saw two losers who were even worse than you used to be today, and I didn’t think that was possible.”  
“You went back to the Buy More?”  
“They thought it was a good site for the seduction. I could have told them the error of their ways, but who asks the old-timers…”  
“We still love you, Ladyfeelings.”  
“Hopefully, I’ll forget you said that by the time I get back. Which could be a while. Carina came on so strong that your little geek clone ran squealing into the night. It was the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.”  
“Time to strut your stuff, big man, show those whippersnappers how it’s done.”  
“Can it, Bartowski. Marines don’t strut. We get the job done. Leave the strutting for those slackers in the army.”  
“Semper Fi.”  
Casey’s parting grunt got cut off.  
***   
“Hannah! You look marvelous!”  
Hannah smiled at her friend. “Yes, well, one thing about working for a private investor, you always have to look your best. I also had to pay for it all myself, but I least I get to keep it.”  
Sarah opened the door. “Your stuff all made it?”   
“Yes, if the CIA ever wanted to change businesses they make excellent movers.”  
“And we already know where you live!” Somehow Hannah didn’t find that as funny as Sarah did. “Do you know where you’ll be working?”  
“Given my background, they’re splitting the difference between analytical and technical, to see which suits me best” She turned, putting a hand on Sarah’s arm. Sarah suppressed her reflex to counterattack. “I got a recommendation from none other than Charles Carmichael himself!”  
Sarah turned left, heading for a section of the building she didn’t know very well. “I know.”  
“You told him?”  
“He was already there, watching over me. Apparently when the pen shorted out it was because you got it to work long enough to show him I was all right. He was impressed.”  
“And that doesn’t creep you out?”  
“That he was impressed?”  
“That he was watching you.”  
Sarah shrugged. “You get used to it. I’ve watched over him often enough. We’re together even when we’re apart.”  
“That’s sad.”  
“You think so?”  
“Togetherness by satellite hook-up? How can you hug him by telephone? I’m sure seeing a picture of you on his monitor was a thrill, but wouldn’t he have rather held you? Or you him?”  
The spy-cam had been Sarah’s idea. He would, and he does.   
Hannah continued on. “When was the last time you made him breakfast, or him you?”  
“That’s classified.”  
“And that doesn’t sound strange to you? Are your wedding photos classified too?”  
“We don’t–” have any.  
“I know you don’t, Sarah, I just think that you should.”  
Sarah frowned. “Should what?”  
“Should something! Obviously this marriage of yours means a lot to you, but it sounds awfully virtual to me. Someone somewhere could flip a switch and it’d be gone, like an ebook. You’re my friend, I don’t want that to happen to you.”  
Sarah didn’t either. It wouldn’t. “It won’t.”  
***   
Chuck knocked on Dimples’ door, not as lightly as Sarah but lighter than anyone else. “Here I am, boss. Who am I sparring with today?”  
Dimples moved the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “No one, Tough Guy. I’m taking you off punishment detail as of now. In fact, go home, take a few days off and get back in shape.”  
“But I’m in shape–”  
“That’s an order, Tough Guy. Get out, go home, go anywhere but here. I’ll see you Monday.”  
Chuck pulled up in front of Devon’s house. He wasn’t home, which Chuck more or less expected, and of course Ellie wasn’t there either. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t there to socialize, he was there to use Devon’s awesome collection of exercise equipment while his own house sat empty of everything that mattered to him. Sarah would be home soon. Until then he would use Devon’s equipment and while he was at it, fold the laundry and vacuum the floor. It was messy.  
But first, some lunch. He looked in the refrigerator. Lots of things to cook, but saw nothing ready to go except for a bottle of Devon’s green goo. He poured himself a glass and drank it down.  
***   
“Ellie, can I talk to you?”  
Ellie was more than willing to put down the results of her calibration tests. “Sure. What’s up?”  
“Is Chuck around?” Sarah whispered, as if Chuck would hear her through the walls if he was.  
“No, we’re doing calibration tests right now so I sent him back to IM. The equipment misbehaved during your last mission and I won’t let that happen again.”  
“Didn’t Chuck rip apart his console?”  
“Yes! While my sensors were flatlining! According to this equipment my brother was brain-dead while he was saving your life. I don’t want to risk another upload until I know why.”  
“What can I do to help?”  
“Me? Nothing. But keep an eye on Chuck for me. Let me know if starts acting unusual in any way.”  
We don’t do ‘normal.’ “Is beating up his sparring partners unusual?”  
Ellie thought it over. “It could just be the fighting skills kicking in. He might just need to learn control.”  
Sarah nodded, relieved. “I can help with that.” An enemy she could fight.  
“Of course you can, you’re awesome! Was that what you wanted to talk about?”  
“Uh-uh. I wanted to ask you for a favor, but now I’m not sure I should.”  
“Shoot. You can’t know ‘til you try.”  
Sarah took a deep breath. “I want to get married.”  
***  
A/N2 Comments welcome as always.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N By far one of my most popular chapters, Sarah and Ellie at the bar. I don't understand why people love the nickel gag the way they do, but it got several mentions. Maybe just because it was a very human moment for Sarah, I don't know. I really liked doing Drunk Sarah. There's an atlee story where she plows through a bottle of wine pretty much on her own (a 'dinner from Hell' scenario), but Drunk Sarah is a rare variation. Some items nobody mentioned catching include Carina calling Sarah stupid, an early sign of her unhappiness, and Chuck's reprise of Han Solo, throwing the money on the table.

In the PDF of this season, this episode ends part 1, while the title for part 2 is a line from this chapter, 'he has that effect on people'. I see this season as moving away from just Chuck to a Team B focus. The episodes in that part are more about the people around Chuck than Chuck himself.

At the time I was writing this, the people on the Chuck This Blog were just discussing the Truth episode, which was timely, as it fed right into the bar scene. Sarah realizing she would have to lie to say No. Many of the threads from the CTB gave me some good ideas in these chapters.  
***  
Ellie gave Sarah a funny look. "Sarah…sweetie, you are married."

Sarah slumped into a chair, looking a little lost. "It doesn't feel like it, some days."

Ellie reached over and took Sarah's hands. "This isn't about that video–"

That video. That wonderful, horrible video that Carina dumped on her head just a few weeks ago. It was a promise, that video, like the ring on her finger was a promise, and Chuck Bartowski always kept his promises. Sarah Walker/Bartowski/Carmichael, not so much. It was practically her job to betray people's trusts. At least she'd never actually gone so far as to marry a mark, but it didn't feel like she'd gone so far as to marry her husband either.

Chuck given her something real, that video, this ring, his word. What had she given him? A ring, yes, but what else? A ring without words behind it was just a ring. What words did she say? The man said some words and she had repeated them. Did she say "I do" or was it "I will"? She could remember the drive, raiding the nearest ATM for the money, even overtipping the witnesses. Why couldn't she remember the words?

Sarah shook her head, took back her hands, sat up straight. "It's about…words," she said at last. "I said them in front of a bunch of people I didn't know, who didn't know me. I've done too many missions like that, saying things I didn't mean to people I didn't know."

"You meant what you said to my brother, didn't you?"

I can't even remember what I said to your brother! "Yes, of course I did."

"But–?"

"But…I want to say them to you, too. Those people in Nevada, they went back to bed when we were done. If I fail to keep my word, or Chuck, what do they care? I want to say those words in front of somebody who'll hunt me down and kick my ass if I fail to live up to them."

Ellie nodded. "That would be me."

"And Orion behind you and Casey behind him."

"My brother has that effect on people."

"Don't I know it. Here I am, sitting here like a real girl, asking you to help me plan my wedding–"

"Oh is that what this is about?" said Ellie, deadpan, then she gave a brilliant Bartowski smile. "Of course I'll help. It'll be a change of pace, that's for sure, the wedding after the marriage."

"Please," said Sarah dismissively, "We had three first dates, two first kisses, and fell in love at first sight. For us this is normal."  
***  
Chuck backed into his driveway in spy-approved fashion, ready for a quick getaway, getting out hastily when he saw that he had a guest. "Morgan? What are you doing here? I thought you'd be halfway back to Hawaii with Anna by now."

Morgan mumbled something about Anna into his hand.

"In English, please?"

"I broke up with Anna!"

"After all she did for you? Why?"

"She made me look like a fool, dude, and I know you're thinking that's not hard, and I know it isn't, but it's different when it's something I do myself and when others do it to me. And can you hurry up with the door, 'cause I gotta pee real bad."

"Oh, yeah." Chuck pulled his keys out of his pocket and speared the keyhole. "So why are you here?"

"I wasn't gonna go back to Hawaii with her, are you nuts?" The door opened and he pushed it open desperately. "Where?"

Chuck pointed out the right door, and brought his friend's bags inside in order to avoid hearing the sigh of relief. "I can see where the flight would be a little uncomfortable," he called out over the sound of the sink.

"Yeah, if I break up with her before, she's sitting there mad at me, and did you know she's a government agent, now, man. Probably kill me and make it look like I died in my sleep. Or I could sit there all flight long wondering how to do it after we touch down, that's if we touch down, 'cause I may lose my concentration and the plane falls…"

"Morgan, rooting for the plane will not keep it in the air."

"You know that and I know that but does the plane know that?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Fine. So now here you are hoping you can crash with us for a while until you find your own place?"

"See? That's why we're best buds and hetero life partners. We're simpatico, we know exactly what the other guy's thinking, except for the 'getting my own place' part."

"You'll have to argue with Sarah yourself."

Morgan collapsed in a chair. "Fine, I'll get my own place." He looked around. "Is Sarah here?"

"No, she called, spending a little girl time with Ellie tonight." Chuck strolled over to the window, made sure his detail was in place.

Morgan smiled slyly. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Chuck held up a disk. "Only if you're thinking Call of Duty marathon!"

"Yes! High five! Other hand." The one without the game in it. "That's what I'm talking about!"  
***  
Ellie barely sat down at the table in the bar before the badgering began. "So, tell me about the two kisses," she demanded as soon as the waitress left to get their drinks.

Sarah frowned. "Damn, lost a nickel." She pulled a coin from one pocket and moved it to the other pocket.

"Huh?"

"I had a bet going with myself, would you ask about the dates or the kisses first? I was sure you were going to ask about the dates–"

"Oh, I will, believe me, but I was there for some of them and I can use my imagination for the rest. But knowing how much Chuck loves the PDA–"

Sarah grinned, remembering all the times she'd had to talk him into kissing her. "Which is to say, not at all."

"Exactly. So you see, you're my only witness."

"I was an active and very willing participant."

"That's what I said, so spill. Who started it, how long, did your toes curl…?"

"Uh, yeah." Sarah shook her head. "That first one, definitely a toe-curler. Uh, that one was mine, I thought we were about to die, and it just…happened. There we were with seven seconds on the clock, and then we were at minus three seconds and very…uncomfortable."

"Uh-huh, and what about Chuck?"

Sarah blushed. "Oh, he was very comfortable."

Ellie laughed. "I gathered that. I meant, what about his kiss? I'm guessing you each had one."

Suddenly Sarah had a bit of a frog in her throat. Fortunately the waitress chose that moment to arrive. Half the drink vanished in a gulp. "Yeah, well, about that. That was, erm, for a mission, and Chuck had to be trained in Seduction Techniques…"

Ellie raised her glass to her lips. "Oh my god…"

"However bad you think it was, it was worse. They sent out the head trainer of the Seduction School, Roan Montgomery himself."

Ladies do not spit. They swallow hurriedly. "They sent the head trainer–?"

"Well, we had to track him down, really. We found him under a bed, unconscious."

"Terrorists?"

"Alcohol." She looked into her glass. "Or the stewardess. We never asked."

"So he didn't…?"

"Oh, he did. That guy holds his liquor better than any man I've ever seen. He was up and badgering Chuck in a matter of minutes, wanted to see his technique."

"Chuck has a technique?"

Sarah took a deep breath, trembling slightly. "Oh, yeah."

Suddenly Ellie had a frog in her throat, and washed it away with a hasty swallow from her own glass. "Ah, erm, and, uh, were the toes curling there too?" The floor looked fascinating suddenly.

Sarah smiled. "I have absolutely no idea."

They toasted her lack of an idea. "That's a yes."

They signaled for refills.  
***  
Chuck's phone rang. Oh thank God! He dropped his controller and left the game to Morgan for a while. "Sarah? You're where? No, don't worry, I'll find it. You didn't take your pill, did you? Of course you're not, you just sound that way. Fine, yes, I'll get Devon and we'll be right up." He ended the call. "Morgan, game over."

Morgan put down the controller, stood and saluted. "Are we at action stations, Captain?"

"If you mean, do we have to go out into the night, get Devon, find our wives, pick them up and pour them into bed, then yes."

"I'll get a bucket."

"Good man." He called Devon.  
***  
"—and that's when I realized I would have to lie to say no. It was the most incredible thing." Sarah's phone rang. "Chuck?"

"No, this isn't Chuck, didn't you even look at your screen before picking up?"

"Oh, Carina, hi! It's Carina," she said to Ellie, sitting all of two feet away, then put the phone back to her ear. "Ellie says she's gonna kick your ass for being mean to me." Ellie started choking.

"Hey Blondie, do me a favor," said Carina. "Take a picture of the bottom of the table while you're down there, I'll add it to my collection. Did you take your pill?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yes, I took my pill. God, you sound just like Chuck."

"Oh, you mean your husband, the man you're supposed to be protecting while Casey and I are three thousand miles away?"

"Listen to you, being all responsible, who knew? Is this why you called, mother?"

"No, I called to tell you all about Casey's evening, since he's never going to mention this to anyone ever."

"Why, what's he doing, getting a lapdance?"

"He's cozying up to our mark, stupid. This Manoosh geek–"

"Nerd."

"On Chuck 'nerd' looks good, on this guy it's just another word for geek. Anyway, Casey's getting all buddy-buddy with him. Guess what they're talking about?"

Sarah shook her head, then stopped hurriedly when it did weird things to the room. "Uh-uh, not playing."

"Casey's raving about his good friend Chuck, got kicked out of Stanford and went to triumph and glory. Sound like anyone you know?"

"Please tell me you're recording this."

"Of course I–"

"Carina?" Suddenly Sarah sounded a lot more sober.

"Dammit! The Ring's coming, gotta go."

Sarah looked at her screen. Call Ended. "Poop."  
***  
Devon looked out the window. "Is this the place?"

"According to the GPS."

"How'd they end up here?" asked the doctor as he unbuckled himself.

"Knowing Sarah, it has no, um, fellow employees in it."

"It's about all I could afford on a Buy More salary," said Morgan from the back seat. "I doubt the Orange Orange pays better."

"I think you'd be surprised, Morgan. Wait here, we'll just be a moment." Chuck led the way into the bar.

"You couldn't leave him home?" muttered Devon.

"He may have to follow us back. Plus the TV hooks up to NORAD." He looked around and spotted his two ladies instantly. He stood over them, looking down with a smile. "If you'd warned me I could have brought my funnel and poured you into my car."

"I am not drunk," yelled Sarah, trying to put her glass down. For some reason the table kept moving. She held up three fingers. "I only ordered two. I had to keep my edge." She belched lightly, like a lady.

"And the rest?" Chuck gestured at the scattering of glasses and beer bottles on their table.

Sarah cradled her head in her hands. "I have absolutely no idea."

Chuck glanced around the bar. "I do." He gripped her under the arm and hoisted her up, as Devon steadied Ellie. "Time to go."

"But we're talking!"

"I think you've said enough."

"Hey, mac, how about you let the ladies drink if they want to drink," said a well-lubricated jerk standing between them and the door. Chuck wondered how many of the drinks he'd paid for. "What are you, her brother?"

Chuck shifted his wife to his off-hand side. "No. I'm her brother," he said, pointing at Ellie, currently draped over Devon. He pulled Sarah closer in a mild hug. "I'm her husband."

"Yeah, like a hot babe like her would even look at a guy like you. Get lost, Romeo, and you too, Juliet. We're gonna be their dates for the remainder of the evening."

"You might want to rethink that idea," said Chuck, "Or my wife here'll kick your ass."

"You tell 'em, honey." Sarah aimed a kick at the lout and overbalanced, pulling Chuck off-balance with her.

The lout, being a lout, took advantage of the distraction and threw a punch at his unwary opponent. Devon could only watch as–

Chuck caught the lout's fist in his very large hand, not even looking. With a quick twist he spun his wife up and the man down hard onto a table, scattering drinks and patrons. One of the lout's fellow louts came to his defense, but Sarah stepped away from Chuck's side and took him down in three moves before drifting back into her husband's embrace.

Chuck closed his hand a bit, and his attacker groaned. "I know a very good hospital," said Chuck, "But it's not near here." He tugged to one side and the guy fell the floor and stayed there. Chuck pulled out his wallet, threw a twenty on the table. "Sorry about the mess."

Outside, Devon just stared. "Dude, that was just…awesome."

Ellie was staring too. "How did you do that?"

Chuck clicked the fob on her keys, located her car by the flashing lights. His wife's Porsche was harder to miss. He handed the keys to his brother-in-law and gave his sister a peck on the cheek. "How'd I do what?"


	31. Chapter 31

A/N Quick poll question here, please leave an answer in the comments, or send a PM. Did you think the line Chuck gave about hospitals at the end of the last chapter was at all threatening? I felt it was but I may be alone there. I'm trying to develop a tone for Charles that's like Chuck but a little harder.  
***   
_“My brother has that effect on people.”  
“Damn, lost a nickel.”  
“Chuck has a technique?”   
“How’d I do what?”_  
***  
It wasn’t easy opening the door to the house while supporting a completely boneless wife, but they don’t hand out Awesome points for nothing. If it was possible to have more than three sheets to the wind, Ellie had them there, and Devon wasn’t about to leave her in the car while he unlocked the door. She flinched a little when he turned on the lights, burying her face in his neck as he carried her to the bedroom. It was almost romantic except he could smell the alcohol coming out in her sweat and that wasn’t romantic at all. Ditto the undressing part once he got her into bed.  
Once she was all tucked up he went out to the kitchen and put together a plate of hangover special: two aspirin, two B-Complex, and two Vitamin C, and left them on her bedside table with a glass of water. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and a soft “Good night, Babe” before turning off the light and leaving the room.  
He dropped a pillow and some blankets on the couch, but didn’t unfold anything yet. Instead, he turned on the TV and set it to channel 0. “General Beckman.” The screen didn’t light up immediately, but the progress bar told him something was happening. It was pretty late, after all. She could be asleep or something. Do Generals sleep?  
The screen lit, so the answer was apparently ‘No.’ Or maybe it was yes, she was in her robe. “Yes, Ellie, what can I—Oh. Good evening, Dr. Woodcomb. To what do I owe the pleasure? Where’s Ellie?”  
“My wife is fine, General, a bit snoggered though.”  
“I wasn’t aware that she drank.”  
“She doesn’t, General, that’s why she’s snoggered.” Under other circumstances, he would have smiled. “She and Sarah had a little bonding episode at a local watering hole that got out of hand.”  
“Out of hand? Sarah?”  
“Well, not Sarah so much, I guess those alcodote pills of yours really work, but she was still pretty tipsy by the time we got there.”  
“You and Chuck had to retrieve your wives from a bar? How is this a matter of national security?”Why are you calling me this way?  
“It isn’t, but something happened during the fight–”  
“You and Mr. Bartowski got into a fight?”   
“Well, no, not exactly. There were these goons, they thought our girls were ripe for the picking–”  
“And they were understandably upset when you two came along and disrupted their plans for a romantic interlude. I’m glad you weren’t injured but I fail to see how this is a matter of national security either.”  
“I wasn’t in the fight, General. Sarah took a guy down in three moves–”  
Beckman sniffed. “She must have been Yeltsined, then. I would have expected one.”  
“Chuck took his guy down in one. Less than one, really.”  
Apparently that was a matter of national security, at least as measured by the verticality of Generals. “Explain that, please.”  
Devon slammed a fist into his open hand. “He caught the guy’s punch, General. Aikido-d him on to the table and left him on the ground.”  
“Chuck did this?”  
Devon nodded. “He wasn’t looking either.”  
Beckman almost smiled. “This is excellent news, Doctor Woodcombe. Your wife has been working to return his fighting skills, and it looks like she’s succeeded.”  
Devon grimaced. “Not entirely.”  
“No?”  
“After the fight, he didn’t seem to remember he’d done anything. Ellie asked him how he did it, and he said ‘Did what?’”  
Beckman considered this for a while. “Make sure Ellie knows about this in the morning, please, Doctor. We’ve seen other cases of memory loss from a fight. It’s possible it’s just a glitch in her program. It’s possible it’s something more, but let’s not borrow trouble.”  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”  
“You’re welcome.”  
The TV blinked out, leaving Devon sitting there looking stupid. He sat back, grabbed his blankets and spread them over himself. He turned out the lights and lay there, looking at the ceiling. “Yeltsined?”  
***   
Morgan opened the door and stood to one side as Chuck carried his wife inside.   
“Thanks, Morgan. Let me get some pills into her, while you get some blankets and stuff. Bedroom’s over there.” He gestured with his chin as he carried Sarah over to the kitchen counter. A plate of the same pills that Devon laid out already waited there, and Sarah was awake enough to take them before she went to bed.   
Morgan was coming out as he brought her in. “Couch patrol, mon capitain?”  
“Oui. We have a guest room, but no bed.”  
“Not a problem, dude. I’ve been exiled from the bedroom plenty of times, believe me, and yours looks a lot more comfortable than the monster in my…our…her living room.”  
“Good night, Morgan.”  
“Night, Chuck.”  
Chuck kicked the door shut and carried Sarah to the bed, got her undressed, and tucked her in. By the time he got in himself, she was already asleep, and he kissed her lightly on the top of her head. “Good night, Mrs. Carmichael.”  
***   
The alarm went off with a sound of chimes, and Chuck woke with a headache. Typical. She did the drinking and he got the hangover. Sarah rolled her body over his and turned off the alarm, a much more pleasant sensation to wake up to. “Good morning, Mrs. Carmichael!”  
“That’s Bartowski,” she said smiling, “And don’t you forget it.” She got out of bed.  
“What, no kiss?” Headache gone, he rolled out of bed and followed his scantily-clad wife to the bathroom.  
“Maybe you don’t mind kissing someone who’s breath could peel paint, but—Aiee!” She screamed.  
Morgan, lying completely naked on the couch, sat bolt upright. “Ahhh!”  
Chuck lunged to the front, ready to take—“Ahhh!” He turned, pulling Sarah’s head in to his chest to shield her eyes as Morgan threw himself over the back of the couch. It didn’t help much, since the couch was at an angle, but at least he tried. “Morgan! Since when do you sleep naked?”  
“Dude, do you have any idea how hot it gets in Hawaii?” Chuck heard a fumbling sound. “Alright, it’s safe now.”  
Chuck turned, to see Morgan wrapped in the throw from the couch like a toga. Great. More laundry. He stepped a little to one side, allowing Sarah to glare at her husband’s best friend. Morgan moved behind the couch a little bit more.  
Sarah grabbed Chuck by the collar and dragged him off to the bathroom. The sound of yelling was clearly audible through the walls, but only the word ‘Hell’ sounded like English. Morgan walked away and occupied himself with other things. Like getting dressed.  
Sarah stalked out of the hall. “You!” He stood, awaiting his sentence. “Two words.” She grabbed the throw from the floor and pushed it against his chest hard enough to hurt. “Laundry.”  
He raised a hand to hold the cloth. “What’s the other one?”  
“Apartment.”  
“Gotcha.”  
Chuck came out of the hall. “What is that wonderful smell?”  
“Breakfast,” said Morgan. “I know I’m not a breakfast chef but it’s just a little something to say I’m sor–”  
“You’re forgiven,” said Sarah. Without the alcohol in her system she was aware of how hungry she was, and fell upon the plates of eggs, bacon, and even pancakes like a wild woman.  
Chuck clapped his friend on the shoulder with a smile. “Good work, little buddy.” He looked up. “Hey! Save some for me.”  
***  
Sarah caught up to her crossing the parking lot. “Hannah, hi! You’re here early. Sucking up already?”  
“All my friends are here.”  
Sarah swallowed a groan at her thoughtlessness, and determined to focus on the bright side. “I’m hearing a plural in there. So you’re settling in all right?”  
“Well enough. I was sort of hoping we could have done something to celebrate, last night…”  
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was out with a friend. We were planning my wedding.” Sarah frowned. “At least, I think we were planning my wedding, I had kind of a lot to drink last night. I may have beaten somebody up, too.”  
Hannah laughed. “I’d believe that over the wedding. I thought you were already married.”  
“I am. Dead of night, hush-hush. I’m trying to make it more…real.” Sarah looked down. “Thanks.”  
“I hope it’s not so classified I’m not allowed to be there.”  
“If I have to leave off the President to invite you, I will.”  
“You know the President?”  
“No, so that makes it easier.”  
***   
“You’re late.”  
“I had to come in by the back entrance, for my cover. Some of the guys decided to schmooze.”  
“Slackers. Okay, so let’s get started. Sit down, Chuck.” She reached over her desk and pressed a button as he complied. She sat opposite him. “This interview is being recorded for General Beckman’s eyes only, do you understand?”  
Reflexively he looked around, spotting the cameras. “I…understand but I don’t know why.”  
“Chuck, can you tell me what happened last night?”  
“Without causing undue embarrassment to wives and sisters who know where I live?”  
“No one cares, Chuck.”  
“Then why the interview? It’s okay you and Sarah got a little drunk, Ellie…”  
“This isn’t about us, Chuck. Tell me what happened last night. Now, Chuck!”  
“You went out with Sarah, got intoxicnineded*, called us—which was a really good thing to do, by the way—and I got Devon so we could pick you up and bring you…home?”  
She made notes. “Who called you, Chuck?”  
He hated it when she made notes. “Sarah?”  
“Was Morgan there?”  
“Yeah, he had to drive my car back while I drove Sarah’s Porsche.” He gasped. “Please tell me I didn’t hurt her car–”  
“Focus, Chuck.” She waited until he settled down. “What happened when you went into the bar, Chuck?”  
“We went to your table, helped you stand—you were really hammered, sis—uh, and we got you outside and drove home.”  
“You were holding onto Sarah?”  
“Of course.”  
“Which hand, Chuck?”  
Chuck was right-handed, and he raised that one automatically. Then he stopped and raised his left hand instead. He stared at his hands, moved his arms up and down, as if muscle memory would help him decide.  
“How much money do you have in your wallet, Chuck?”  
He left off staring at his hands. “Same as I always, do, sis, I didn’t buy anything yesterday.”  
“Count it, please.”  
Chuck pulled out his wallet and riffled through the bills. “That’s not right.” He fingered them again. “I’m twenty dollars short.”  
“You weren’t around anyone who would take just twenty dollars from your pocket without telling you, were you, Chuck?”  
“No, just…just family.” He frowned, shook his head.  
“What’s the matter, Chuck?”  
“I can’t remember, sis. I got to your table, saw all those drinks, and I knew they were trying to get you guys vulnerable, and I—I got so angry, even though I knew Sarah could…but what if she couldn’t, you know, and then we were outside.” He looked up at her in fear. “Please tell me I didn’t hurt anyone.”  
She smiled at him, not that she felt like smiling. “You didn’t hurt anyone, Chuck. In fact you chose the least hurtful method of having a bar fight I’ve ever seen.”  
“The least hurtful method of having a bar fight is to not get into one, sis. Barring that, ‘strike first, strike hardest.’ The Han Solo rule.”  
“Okay, next least.”  
“What’s wrong with me, Ellie?”  
“I’m sticking with ‘up’ for the moment. ‘What’s up with you, Chuck?’ Because I refuse to believe there’s anything wrong. If there was something ‘wrong’ with you, that bar wouldn’t still be standing. This concludes the interview.” Ellie reached over and pressed one switch, and then another. “Annie? I’m going to need that time slot.”  
Chuck groaned. “Not the MRI again.”  
“Full work-up, little brother. Nothing goes ‘up’ with you without my permission.”  
***   
Dimples looked up. “Agent Carmichael. I did as you asked. Tough Guy’s off the punishment detail.”  
“Actually, Chief, I’m thinking I made a mistake, yesterday. I was wondering if I could be a part of the process, help him learn some control over what he’s doing.”   
“If you could just get him to stop that’d be a blessing, Agent. He’s like a machine in there.”  
“I’d like to see what he’s been doing, if you don’t mind.”  
“No problem. Let me call Pebbles.”  
***   
Chuck’s phone trilled as he staggered down the hall. Today’s modern diagnostic methods may be non-invasive, but they left him sleepy as hell. “Hey Casey. What’s up? I’m not working today.”  
“I’m just looking for some intelligent conversation at this point, Bartowski, but I can’t get Walker to pick up.”  
“I’m tracking her down now, so we can get lunch.”  
“It’s all right, moron, you’ll do. Anything’s better than these pinheads in Castle.”  
“What’d they do this time?”  
Casey sighed. These clowns weren’t worth a grunt. “Tried to open Manoosh’s little box without putting it in a containment unit first.”  
Chuck laughed. Casey wouldn’t have called if there’s been a real problem. “So what was in it?”  
“Shaving cream.”  
“I hope they thanked you.”  
“Of course not. They’re all trying to reacquire the target before he gets—what the hell?”  
“What?”  
“There’s a car full of Ring agents lying unconscious by the loading dock. You, get that footage! Scramble the team, lock those guys down. Gotta go.”  
***   
Chuck wandered into IM, following the tracker in his watch. He checked the boss’ office, but no one was there, not even the boss. He followed the sounds of some people sparring back in the ring, so he went there. Maybe he could get in on some of the action after all.  
Sarah was in the ring, dancing around Pebbles. She was getting in some good hits but he was so big he shrugged most of them off. He was too slow to hit her but she had to tire sometime. Chuck stood and watched, enjoying the sight of his wife’s body in motion. Skill, grace, and power.  
Then she executed a maneuver that had caused him endless trouble, and in fact still couldn’t get quite right. Watch and learn, Bartowski. Oh, yeah, Pebbles felt that one. He applauded.  
Sarah stopped. “Chuck?”  
Pebbles couldn’t stop. Chuck saw the blow la—  
“Chuck, stop!”  
He stood over Pebbles’ crumpled body, breathing slightly hard.  
***  
A/N2 ‘Intoxicnineded’: one more than intoxicated.  
Comments welcome as always.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N** Quick poll question here, please leave an answer in the comments, or send a PM. Did you think the line Chuck gave about hospitals ("I know a very good hospital. It's not near here.") was at all threatening? I felt it was but I may be alone there. I'm trying to develop a tone for Charles that's like Chuck but a little harder. This story's going to take a more dramatic turn at some point, and I have to be ready for it.  
***  
_"Thank you for bringing this to my attention."_

_"I'm trying to make it more…real."_

_"Please tell me I didn't hurt anyone."_

_"Chuck, stop!"_  
***  
"What the hell was that?"

Sarah really didn't have time for this right now. "Dimples, I want you to go back to your office, right now, and prepare for the man with all the documents you'll soon have to sign." He seemed ready to argue, but 'Agent Walker' turned to look at him and he chose the better part of valor. She turned back once he was out of sight. "Chuck, look at me!"

Chuck didn't look at her. "I can't move, Sarah! The program won't let me move!"

She pulled out her phone from her gear on the floor. "Ellie! Chuck just attacked someone. No, I was sparring and he was defending me," she said, keeping her voice as level as she could. "Out but not dead. I got Chuck to stop but now he can't move. What does that mean, an endpoint?" She listened for a bit. "No, I didn't see anything like that, I saw him about to break the man's spine! Well, probably not but it's what I—you're kidding." She sighed. "No, you're right. It has to be me. Fine. Send two stretchers." She ended the call. "Chuck, can you close your eyes?"

"Yes."

"Close them. I need to get Pebbles out of the way."

"They're closed."

She came around into her husband's field of view, but he didn't move. Pebbles was big, but as most of her opponents discovered the hard way, she was stronger than she looked, and she didn't have to drag him far. She moved back, to stand in front of him. "Chuck, Ellie says you need to finish the routine, that's why you're locked up. You'll have to fight me."  
"No!" He shut his eyes tighter. "I don't want to hurt you!"

She took a deep breath, knowing that the program could. "That's what we're counting on. Open your eyes, Chuck."

"Sarah…"

"Now, Chuck!"

Chuck responded to female authority as he always had and always would. His eyes opened, and he saw her waiting in a fighting stance. Only the fact that she was much smaller than Pebbles and in a different position kept him from…killing her. "Sarah! It's not sparring!" Pebbles had said, 'take them all the way out', and Pebbles had been the opponent. Then.

She dodged a kick that would have broken her neck. Chuck was inside, and Chuck was holding back, turning a perfect opponent into a merely very good opponent. She threw a punch. The defense was perfect, only the offense had degraded.

She couldn't hit him. He wouldn't hit her. She was already tired and the program was tireless, and even with Chuck inside there was only one way for it to terminate. The only way to save Chuck would destroy Chuck.

She clenched her fists tight, and launched a flurry of strikes that the program blocked effortlessly. Her exhaustion made her slow, leaving an opening that the machine took advantage of.

"Sarah!" Chuck watched as his own arm lifted Sarah off the ground by the throat, choking her as she struggled. "Come on, Sarah! Kick me. Kill me if you have to!" He watched her struggles get weaker. "Do something!"

She went limp. Chuck's fingers registered no pulse. Chuck's eyes detected no breathing. "Sarah?"

The program terminated. Sarah dropped to the ground in a boneless heap and Chuck followed her down. He knelt by her side, sobbing. His wife was dead and he'd killed her. "It's not me."

"Tough Guy?"

"It's not me."

"Is she dead?"

YES! Rage brought him to his feet in a leap but Dimples was ready for that, Sarah's tranq gun in his hand and two darts in Chuck's chest the second he presented a target. He leaned forward so that when he fell down it wouldn't be on top of her body. "Thanks…Dimples."

Darkness was never more welcome.

Dimples approached carefully, just in case Chuck was faking. No, pulse and respiration were slow, but good. Then he checked Agent Walker.

No pulse. No breathing.

Dimples stood and walked back to Sarah's things, putting down the gun and picking up her phone. He hit redial on the last number. "My name is Dimples," he said to the female voice that answered. "I'm Tough Guy's boss in IM. You're gonna need another stretcher, Agent Walker's dead. Yes, I'll wait."  
***  
Beckman looked unhappy. "Sarah's dead?"

"That's what he said."

The General frowned. "You're the doctor. Fix it."  
***  
Chuck woke up in a familiar place, the recovery room of the Intersect area. He looked up and saw a bag, an IV of some kind of liquid. He couldn't feel a needle, though his arm hurt a bit. He lifted his arm, but his wrist was chained to the bed railings so he stopped and put it down again and closed his eyes. He couldn't blame them.

Someone cleared her throat.

He cracked his eyelids, just enough to see the golden glow. His head hurt abominably, and he shut them again. "Haunting me already, are you?"

"Chuck, I'm not dead." Please look at me.

"The Intersect killed you." It's not me.

"The Intersect is a stupid program. And you're almost as stupid, but that's a good thing. Just as well you were so worried about killing me you forgot about the dose of fakeadeathanol in the FRODO." Finally he opened his eyes. "I injected myself before that last attack."

He remembered her clenching her fists so tightly. "You faked your death! Just like Kirk in 'Amok Time'!"

Now she could smile. "Yes, you're better. I'll go tell Ellie."

He watched her stand and walk, a little stiffly. Just before she reached the door he said, "Sarah? Can I ask you something?"

She turned. "Sure, Chuck."

"What's your real name?"

"Sam," she said automatically, and then her hands flew to her mouth as if trying to keep the sound in.

Chuck laughed. "You were so busy with the fakeadeathanol you forgot about the truth serum in your other hand."

She looked down, saw matching punctures on both palms, and fled the room before he could say anything more, taking her light with her.  
***  
"I want them out, Ellie!"

"We can't do that, Chuck. Dad's program only does the data. The best I can do is revert the code back to what it was in the beginning. If you try to use the skills you'll just knock yourself out."

In his universe that counted as good news. "That'll have to do."

"Don't worry, little brother, we'll get it right. Download commencing."  
***  
The upside to the CIA variant of the truth serum was that it wasn't lethal anymore. The downside was that the antidote tasted so bad you wished it was. Sarah would have preferred to wait it out-alone in a locked room-but they couldn't keep Dimples on ice that long. Typical Chuck to think of such a thing, but that was a dirty trick, weaseling her name out of her. Still, it was a small price to pay, it got the point across, and it's not like he didn't deserve to know. So many things he deserved to know, would she ever—The door opened, and Dimples entered and sat.

She looked him in the eye. "This interview is not being recorded," she said.

"I understand."

"I've read your file. You look good for a dead man." She smiled at him.

He smiled back. "So do you."

"Did you realize that you're number twelve on the all-time greats list at the Badass of the Week website?"

His voice said "I try not to think about the past" but his eyes said Yes, I know.

"My point being that you appreciate the need for…discretion…in certain matters. On the other side of that window are three people who collectively outrank God, who are very glad to know that you can maintain a decorous silence."  
***  
"We outrank God?" said one of the two people behind the window.

"You're just a doctor," said the General. "That leaves it all on my shoulders." She stood up straighter.  
***  
"Nothing I'm going to tell you now ever happened."

He maintained a decorous silence, nodding to indicate his comprehension.

"You heard me call him Chuck, but I recommend you forget that. 'Chuck' was his first identity, and that's the one I know best. He's a civilian. His path crossed ours during a mission. We were searching for an enemy cell in a suburban environment, and he'd moved in the week before. A pure, and unfortunate, accident. The bad guys were collecting lab specimens from their neighbors, test subjects for something they called 'the program'."

His eyes widened slightly, and she knew he'd heard Chuck use that phrase after all.

"He brought over some cookies to welcome us to the neighborhood." Her voice turned sad. "Such a sweet, lovely man he was. The enemy used him as cover to capture me, and my partner was taken by a ruse.

"They tried their program on him first, and by some miracle he survived it. Sort of." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "They turned him loose on my partner. Pebbles lasted longer. Then they turned him loose on me. That thoughtful, caring man was turned into a monster by monsters, but he…resisted. You call him Tough Guy, you don't know how right you are. He fought the program long enough for my husband to get there. Chuck—Tough Guy held me in his arms, shielded me as my husband used their own program against them."  
***  
Ellie wiped her eyes. "I'm glad she took the antidote. This is a lie, right?"

The General stayed silent long enough to get her worrying. Finally she said, "The bad parts."  
***  
"And you brought him here?" Among my men. Without telling me.

"My husband never forgets, and he always takes care of his own. We keep him safe, and the CIA needs to study the program. Counter it. Hopefully remove it."

"Did you know he was dangerous?"

"He's not," she shook her head, not answering the question but rejecting it. "He's been in fights, but only to protect others. He always uses the least amount of force, like with Shaw, and runs away. We were hoping your sparring would help him learn control. He wasn't supposed to be there. I should never have let him see me in a fight. His reflex is always to protect me."

"That's a hell of a reflex."

"He was just doing what you and Pebbles told him to do. He held back with me, as I hoped. Anyone else would be dead for real."

"And you expect them to trust him now? The second Pebbles gets out of traction–"

"That's why you're here. No one can know."

Dimples stared at her thoughtfully. "How many survivors of this 'program' are there?"

"Just one."

He nodded. "They'll want him back."

"They don't exist anymore, Dimples. We take care of our own."  
***  
"Hi, John. And who is this?"

"Haven't you met Carina before?"

"I meant the guy with the bag on his head."

Casey grunted in distaste. "He's not a 'who', he's more of a 'what'." He pulled the bag off. "This traitor is Manoosh, good for nothing except getting me a free trip to WeapCon. Got a new laser pen, not that I got a chance to use it, yet." He gave Carina a dark look.

She held up her hands. "Hey, on bad guy handcuffs, FRODO trumps laser pen every time."

Casey didn't grunt, he snarled, and turned back to Ellie. "He's all yours, now."

"For my sins?"

"For these," said Carina, handing her the fragments of a pair of sunglasses. "He built the Intersect skills into these."

Ellie eyed her new subordinate speculatively. "Did he?"  
***  
Chuck winced as he closed the door. "Morgan! Turn it down."

Morgan grabbed the remote and complied. "You're home early. You wanna play? I can always restart–"

Chuck talked as he moved toward his bedroom. "No, buddy, I'm gonna crash. Got a splitting headache. How'd the apartment-hunting go?"

"Good, good. Got a few leads, some places to see tomorrow."

"Good work, remember, you have to explain to Sarah if you're still here next week."

"Yeah, thanks for the reminder."  
***  
"Take those off, will you, John?"

Casey removed the cuffs, grumbling.

Ellie grabbed Manoosh by his collar and dragged him over to the screen.

"Hey," he yelled, "You need me! Only I can make those glasses!"

Ellie slammed him up against the wall. "That's your first mistake, traitor. Don't ever assume that I need you. Stand right there." She left him where he was and marched over to her desk. A click on her computer and the projector flared in his face. She stalked back, grabbed him again, and spun him around, mashing his nose against the wall. "Do you see that?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"I don't know!"

Ellie leaned in close, speaking into his ear. "It's the code for my father's greatest invention, his life's work. Code that you pirated to make your silly toys." She spun him around and pushed him against the wall again. "I don't care that you're a traitor. I don't care that you're a thief. I care about that. The only reason I'll bother sharing air space with you is because you've already done the work I need to have done. You're convenient. Don't ever think I need you." She shoved him over to her desk. "Sit down and get started. I'll get a proper workstation installed, preferably in another room. And remember, there's always one more camera than the ones you think you found."

She walked out, and Casey and Carina followed. She turned, suddenly nervous. "So how'd I do?"

Casey smiled. "You almost scared me. That'll keep somebody like him in line a good long while."

Ellie paled. "And after that?" She was no fighter.

"After that," said Carina, "If he's got the brains he seems to have, he'll be working because he wants to."  
***  
Manoosh sat at the computer, staring at the words and diagrams. He could see the parts of the code he'd recreated himself, but this was so much more—The screen went black.

HELLO MANOOSH

"What the hell?"

NO NEED TO CURSE

"…Sorry?"

I SEE YOU MET MY DAUGHTER

"Met her? I almost peed myself!"

GOOD. JUST DON'T MAKE HER MAD  
***  
Chuck woke to the sound of Morgan rummaging in his closet. "What exactly are looking for?"

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually getting bored with all those games out there. I was looking for something different, but now that I see your impressive collection of GameBoys, I'm thinking maybe I'll go old school for a while."

Chuck closed his eyes, waved a hand. "Have fun, buddy."

"Hey, Chuck, what's this?"

Open his eyes again? Maybe tomorrow. "What's what?"

"I don't know," said Morgan. "It doesn't look a GameBoy. What is it, some kind of prototype? How do you hold it."

"By the handle?"

"It doesn't have a handle, dude, just straps. Like a computer you wear on your wrist."

Chocolate brown eyes opened, and their owner sat up. "Oh yes," said Charles. "That."  
***  
**A/N2** not...ready...for it...

The Badass of the Week site is real, or it was. I don't know who's #12 on their all-time greats list though. This is a research-free zone!

Comments welcome as always.


	33. Cover Identities

A/N Okay, time to get this show on the road.  
***   
_“What the hell was that?”  
“It’s not me.”  
“I want them out, Ellie!”  
“Nothing I’m going to tell you now ever happened.”_  
***  
“How are you feeling, Chuck?”

“Hmm. Let’s find out.” Chuck lay there in bed, eyes closed, finding out. “Toes work. Ankles and knees. Body and mind seem to be holding it all together. Heart and soul…?” He hugged her gently.

“A-okay,” she said, laughing.

“Well, there you go, then.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I am as A-okay as God and my sister could make me. Which sounds kind of grotesque now that I stop to think about it–”

“Well I think Ellie did a great job.”

“No more skills, no more fighting, no more blackouts–”

She snuggled up closer and kissed him into silence. “Not at all what I meant.”

“Oh, I know what you meant,” he said, rolling her over.

“You guys know I can hear everything you’re saying, right?” said Morgan from the other side of the wall.

Sarah sighed and dropped her head to the pillow. “Much as I love his breakfasts, he’s got to get his own place.”

“You got that right,” said Chuck, flinging back the covers. “He’s my friend, not a servant. He shouldn’t have to pay rent in waffles.”

She sat up. “I was thinking about our sex life.”

“Oh, I know what you meant,” he said again, giving her one of his famous eyebrow dances.

“Hey, be careful with that!” She raised her hands and turned her head away. “Don’t go making promises your best friend won’t allow you to keep.”

Chuck looked at her, his features firming up remarkably. “Morgan?”

“Way ahead of you there, Chuck. You guys wanted waffles?”  
***   
Morgan put a plate down in front of Sarah. “Here you go, waffle number three. Any more for you, Chuck?”

Chuck sat back. “No thanks, buddy, two’s my limit on waffles.” Breakfast appreciation time over, he logged on to his newsfeeds.

“Cool. I’ll go put the rest of the batter in the fridge, save it for another day.”

Sarah said, “Morgan.”

He turned back, hesitantly.

“Take this number.” She held out a sheet of paper. “It’s the number of a lady I know, she rents out lots of rooms to government trainees and stuff. Her name circulates among them but you probably wouldn’t have heard of her. Tell her you situation and give her my name.”

His eyes lit up. “Wow, thanks, Sarah!”

“Thank you! You’re a good cook but I’m gonna get fat if this keeps up.”

“Hey, you hear that, buddy?” Morgan whacked Chuck on the arm. “Now that’s true praise!”

Chuck looked up. “Maybe you should call Benihana, see if they have any positions out here. You did get them a lot of good press.”

“Yeah, and broken windows.” Morgan sagged a bit at the thought, but then stood a bit taller. “No, you’re right. Gotta live the dream.”

Chuck nodded. “Can’t be awesome without being awesome.” He went back to reading his ‘feeds as Morgan went off to be awesome   
somewhere else. “Hey, Burbank!”

Sarah looked up from her waffle. “What about it?”

Chuck shrugged. “Nothing. I have an old filter that looks for stories from there. It popped up a story, apparently some museum in Burbank is sending a new exhibit to DC, before it even opened there.”

“That’s weird. Why would they do that?”

“Break-ins. The insurance people wouldn’t cover the exhibit anymore, even though the hellaciously good security in the museum prevented any actual loss. So they’re sending the exhibit here, some kind of inter-museum back-scratchery going on.” He looked up at her. “You want to go?”

“You didn’t just…” She checked to make sure that Morgan wasn’t in overhearing-range. 

“Not that, Sarah. You know, normal people doing normal things type of stuff. It opens tomorrow night.”

“Sure, why not? It’ll be interesting to see one of these things from the front for a change. Which reminds me. I’ve got the wardrobe for it but we’ll have to rent you a tux.”  
***   
“Mr. Shaw?”

Daniel Shaw turned around to find a janitor standing behind him. “Chuck? Won’t you get in trouble for being seen with me?”

Chuck ducked his, looked around. “Agent Walker told you to stay away from me. She didn’t say I had to stay away from you.”

Shaw smiled, admiring the hair-splitting while doubting it would deflect any of Agent Walker’s wrath. He made no attempt to come closer, despite his curiosity. “I think this is probably close enough, Chuck. What’s on your mind?”

Chuck pulled his hand from his pocket, holding some printed pages. “Is this you?”

Shaw reached out and took the pages, unfolding them to see a copy of the museum article Chuck read that morning. He’d already read it himself. “Why would you think I had anything to do with this?”

Chuck ducked his head, swept the floor some more. “Agent Carmichael was in Burbank. You were in Burbank.”

Shaw stopped smiling. “How did you know I was in Burbank, Chuck?”

Chuck flinched, even though Shaw made no move to come near him. “I didn’t say anything, Agent Shaw.”

“I know you didn’t, Chuck. You’re a good boy.” Shaw waited until the familiar phrase calmed the boy down. “I was just curious how you knew.”

Chuck mumbled, “The trash told me.”

Shaw nodded. “Thank you for telling me, Chuck,” he said, smiling again. “If the trash tells you any more things about me I hope you’ll tell me what they are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’, Chuck. ‘Agent Shaw’ is fine, or you can even call me Daniel if you want.”

“Yes sir, Agent Shaw.”

Shaw sighed, slightly. “But to answer your question, no, this wasn’t me.” He folded the papers and handed them back, but Chuck was already moving down the hall, sweeping up the dust. Shaw took the pages back to his office, where he read them carefully, looking for anything in the story that would explain how Chuck knew he’d been there. Nothing jumped out at him. Whatever clue had jumped out at Chuck was too subtle for him to notice. He folded the pages and went to put them in the circular file.

_The trash told me._

He put them in his pocket instead.   
***   
“Hey, Hannah.”

“Sarah, hi! What brings you down to nerd central?”

“You stand up straight and tall when you say that! The few, the proud, the Nerds!”

Hannah grinned, and saluted. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Ready for lunch? You do remember we had a lunch date today?”

“Oh, yes, and believe me, after upgrading the encryption programs on all these watches I am ready for some sunshine and a friendly face. But I also don’t want to have any more of these damn things to come back to after said lunch.”

There were only a couple left. Sarah perched herself on a stool to wait. “Just the nagging certainty of getting stuck with some other miserable, low-man-on-the-totem-pole drudge work after that.”

“Hey, I can’t expect to just waltz into Digital Dave’s batcave, and three times the work for twice the pay. I have to work at it!”  
Sarah giggled.

“Tell me that sound didn’t just come out of your mouth,” said Hannah. “You’re a super-spy, so act like one.”

Sarah grinned, and saluted. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Ah, done, finally! I can’t wait until they let me work on the Geiger counters or something sexy like that.” She hopped off her stool and put on her coat.

“You wanna know something?” asked Sarah. “I’ve never needed a Geiger counter or a band saw, but my encrypted watch has saved my life more often than I like to admit. You want to do these guys a favor, figure out a way to hide a razor blade where the bad guys won’t immediately find it.”

“A razor blade? That sounds so basic. I can’t imagine they’d do much with it.”

Sarah smiled. “You’d be surprised.”

“Not knowing you, I wouldn’t be. But we’re going to lunch, and we’ve got much better things to talk about than work. How’s the wedding planning going? Have you told your husband yet? And isn’t that a strange question?”

“Well…”  
***  
Daniel Shaw put the phone down. All the work he’d done to get the Mask of Alexander exhibit sent to his carefully hand-picked museum, and they couldn’t accept it. Now a cultural museum he had never heard of was rubbing its hands with glee over their good fortune, while he had to figure out ways to break into and out of the place. 

At least their security wasn’t likely to be as high-grade as the last place. If he hadn’t been carrying an oxygen canister it would have killed him, and he still didn’t manage to make the switch. All he could do was get hold of the building plans from the Hall of Records and find a bit of reconstruction that hadn’t been carried out as carefully as it ought to have been.  
***   
Chuck’s phone rang, and he moved into a janitor’s closet to answer it. “Hey, what’s up, Morgan?”

“Chuck, you and Sarah are lifesavers, man. I’d kiss your feet except that you’re not here, and it’s really kind of gross anyway. Well, your feet would be, and I guess you’d kill me if I tried to–”

“Cut to the chase, Morgan, I’m on the clock here.”

“That lady Sarah sent me to, Mrs. Pendergast. It turns out she’s got a B&B, and she said I could stay there for a reduced rent if I’d be her breakfast chef.”

“So you’re paying her in waffles?”

“Well, yeah, and money too, because I’m not a full-time guy. But I did what you said and called my old boss. He’s got a friend here in DC, so I called and I have an interview tomorrow. Is that great or what?”

“I’m proud of you, buddy. Live that dream!”

“Anyway, I still have some money from that plane ticket I cashed in, I was wondering if maybe you and Sarah would like to go out to dinner with me, sort of semi-my treat-ish, you know?”

“Yeah, Morgan, I know. Let me talk to Sarah, see what plans she’s got, if any.”

“Cool. Uh, you know any good places to eat around here?”

“Define ‘good.’”  
***   
Daniel Shaw slipped from shadow to shadow, approaching the museum. Once a house, it had been extensively modified and enlarged over the last hundred years, and now housed an extensive collection of Byzantine art, which is where the exhibit would almost certainly be. 

Fortunately the architects had been men of standing and had filed their designs appropriately, where he could access them and find a weak point. Unfortunately he found that weak point in the rear of the other wing, and would have to cross half the house to make the switch.  
He had to do it tonight. The Ring wanted the display too, but they were far less likely to take a chance on the security than he was. They had gotten where they were by stealth, forcing their ambition to creep rather than soar. They would infiltrate the audience and scope out the display area before staging their own theft. That delay was his only hope.

He fired a piton into the brickwork of the chimney and quickly scaled the attached cable to reach the roof, where he pulled up the cable and attached a small charge to the piton. His goggles revealed no trace of lasers or other active sensors, as he expected, so he stowed them and allowed his eyes to get used to the dark. He was going to have to check for passive obstacles, tripwires and such. Slower going, but not too slow.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of creeping across the roof, he reached his goal. The small chimney flue was nowhere near large enough for a man of his size, but in houses like this, where there’s a kitchen there’s a dumbwaiter. If his research was correct, the shaft for the dumbwaiter was co-opted for the ventilation system, but the upper parts should be merely closed off.

“It’s about time you got here, Agent Shaw.”

Shaw lifted his head, flicked the light automatically in the direction of the voice.

“Don’t do that,” said the same voice from a different direction. “No need to blow both our covers.”

Shaw turned to the new direction, his slightly light-blinded eyes making out a shape in the shadows of the air handler room. “Who are you?”

“My name is Carmichael, Agent Shaw. Charles Carmichael.”  
***  
A/N2 There really is a museum and cultural center in the DC area for Byzantine and pre-Colombian art, called Dumbarton Oaks. That’s all I know about it. Well, maybe not all, but all I’m going to say in this story. Comments welcome as always.


	34. chapter 34

_“I am as A-okay as God and my sister could make me.”  
“Is this you?”  
“Live that dream!”  
“My name is Carmichael, Agent Shaw. Charles Carmichael.”_  
***  
Sarah woke to an unaccustomed sensation. She was cold. Her husband wasn’t spooned up against her, nor was she draped across him. She reached a hand out, found him in the bed at least, but whatever wasn’t right was definitely wrong. She rolled over. “Chuck? Are you feeling all right?”  
He groaned, pulling his pillow down over his eyes. “Don’t tell me it’s morning already.”  
She shrugged. “Okay, I won’t.” On cue, his alarm went off, and she rolled over him again to turn it off.   
“What a waste of a good morning,” said Chuck, moving his hand up and down her back.  
“Must be all that making up for lost time, the night before. Or the food.”  
“Hey, don’t go dissing Bob Evans,” said Chuck. “It’s working man’s food, and last night I was a working man!”  
She frowned. “Is it work if you enjoy it?”  
“I meant work in the purely physical sense,” squeaked Chuck, well aware of the sub-text.  
“Purely physical, huh?” She grinned. “That certainly explains the strength of ten, doesn’t it?”  
His eyes widened. “Ten?”  
“Isn’t that one of your quotes, pure hearts and the strength of ten?”  
“Yeah, but…ten?”  
“I was thinking collectively.”  
He tried to get a count himself, but his memories of last night were hazy. In a good way. Must be a spy thing. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said, and grinned back up at her. “I always said we were better together.”  
She gave him that look. “Does that include showering?”  
Body said no, mind said…maybe. “Right now?”  
“Strength of ten, sweat of ten.”  
“I don’t feel sweaty.”  
“Well, take my word for that too,” she said, running her hand up his arm, “We both worked up quite a—you don’t feel sweaty, do you?” She stuck her nose in close and sniffed. “You taking showers without me, Mr. Bartowski?”  
“I can’t even get out of bed, Mrs. Bartowski. You wore me out.”  
“Chuck?” He looked up at the strength of her voice all of a sudden. “After all that sparring you were doing, a little romp with me shouldn’t have left you this exhausted. Didn’t you sleep well?”  
“I…don’t think so,” he said with a sigh. “I feel like all the dreams I had were real.”  
“Dreams?”  
“All night long I dreamed I was working, mopping floors, scrubbing toilets, climbing over rooftops–”  
She looked amused. “Rooftops?”  
“All of my secret identities seem to do a lot of physical labor–”  
“All of them?” She sounded amused. “How many do you have?”  
“Well, Tough Guy and Good Boy Chuck do sort of overlap…”  
“And what did we agree about Mr. Carmichael?” She did not look or sound amused.  
“Uh, rumor mill and gossip?”  
“Hiding in shadows and acting through an army of agents who don’t even know that they’re working to accomplish his ends. You wrote that yourself.”  
Chuck hugged the covers to his chest. “I said ‘fell designs’, and that was for my video game! You’ve been reading my files?”  
“The description was so perfect, I thought you were just being a nerd and designing your character, the way you have those architectural designs for your sock drawer–”  
“I was using them as props for the lost temple!”  
“Whatever.” She kissed him on the nose. “If you want to keep something secret around a spy, don’t act so secretive about it.”  
Chuck sat up. “The Piranha is always secretive about his software!”   
Sarah smiled. “Not so tired anymore. Good.” She threw off the covers. “Let’s go get that shower.”  
His software was still saying maybe, but now his hardware was definitely saying yes.  
***  
Sarah walked out their bedroom, dressed for the day, and stopped cold. “What’s all this?”  
Chuck looked up with a bland expression. “It’s just breakfast.”  
It looked like every dish Morgan had ever made. “For who, the Russian army?”  
“Casey would never forgive me.”  
“Chuck, you’re a ‘two waffles and I’m full’ kind of guy.”  
“Well, dreaming about sweeping the floors is even more work than the real thing, who knew? Not to mention tandem showers.” He sat and put most of the scrambled eggs on his plate. “No wonder I was so tired this morning. Maybe we should hold off on that museum trip. If Shaw didn’t steal it last night, the Ring will be after it today, and I really don’t want to get caught in that crossfire.” Shovel, shovel. Chew, chew.  
“What did you say?”  
Swallow, swallow. “I said, maybe we should hold off on that museum trip, I’m feeling pretty tired.” He looked up, caught the expression on her face. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”  
***   
Chuck went out on his 5K run. Sarah twisted her ankle folding laundry and decided to take it easy this morning. The second he was out of sight the TV turned on to channel 0.  
“He said what, Agent Bartowski?”  
Sarah kept up a professional façade for the General. “The Mask of Alexander display that opens tonight is a Ring target, and that Agent Shaw might have stolen it last night.”  
“Doctor, are you certain Chuck had the data removed?”  
“He has, General,” said Ellie from her side of the split screen. “His MRI scans show no significant changes from the baseline.”  
“Then where did he get this data from? It wasn’t in his reports yesterday.”  
“General, Ellie,” began Sarah, “He read about the display and several break-ins at the museum in Burbank on one of his newsfeeds yesterday at breakfast. To the best of my knowledge that’s the first time he heard of it.”  
“I can check the dataset for references to this Mask, but I know he has no traces of the Intersect in him at this time, and he wouldn’t have had any when he read the article.”  
“He asked me if I wanted to go see it, yesterday. I asked him if he flashed, but he said he didn’t.”   
“Attend the opening,” said Beckman instantly.  
“General, Chuck was very tired this morning. He actually wanted to not go, but that’s not what came out of his mouth. When I asked him to repeat it, he didn’t seem to know he’d said anything else.”  
“Why was he tired?” asked Ellie.  
Sarah blushed.  
“I’m sorry,” said Ellie instantly, blushing herself. “I’m sure it’s none of my business.”  
Sarah looked down and composed herself. “He did, uh, he did say he’d had some powerful dreams, him doing strenuous physical activities, like those related to his covers. And he ate a lot for breakfast.”  
“No doubt an effect, rather than a cause,” said Beckman, lips twitching.  
“It could have been his brain processing data while he slept,” said Ellie. “Not the Intersect but the process of intersection, so to speak. He was supposed to be an analyst, it’s not too much of a stretch to think that the Intersect could be enhancing that.”  
“Why now?”  
“I don’t know, Sarah. There are too many theories and no way to choose between them at this time.”  
Sarah glanced at her clock. “General, Chuck will be back from his run soon. Can we reconvene after I get into Langley?”  
“Certainly, if we need to,” said Beckman. “But first, I want you to find Agent Shaw and talk to him about this Mask. We’ll reconvene after that. Dismissed.”  
***   
“Oh, good morning, Chuck.”  
“Agent Shaw.” Chuck shuffled away from the elevators. “You’re not supposed to be talking to me, sir. Agent Walker said.”  
“That’s true, Chuck, but I spoke to Agent Carmichael last night and he didn’t seem to have anything against me saying ‘Good Morning’ to you. I assume he and Agent Walker have agreed on the matter.”  
“You spoke to Agent Carmichael…last night?”  
“Yes, I assume you told him where I would be.”  
“I didn’t say anything, Agent Shaw.”  
“It’s all right, Chuck, I don’t mind.”  
“But–” I didn’t say anything.  
“In fact, I have to thank you. Agent Carmichael said it was your report that made him decide to involve himself, which really made my mission easier. So thank you, Chuck.” The elevator dinged, and Shaw gave Chuck a friendly nod and walked away.   
Behind him he heard someone say, “I’m sorry about your wife, Agent Shaw.”  
Shaw turned and frowned at Chuck, standing alone in the hall, staring evenly back at him. He started to open his mouth, but whatever he might have said was cut off by the elevator doing what elevators do.  
Chuck watched Shaw’s scowling face vanish behind the closing doors. But I didn’t say anything.  
***   
Shaw sat at his desk, pulled out his stick and plugged it in the port. He called up several documents, but he didn’t read any of them. They were only there to make it look like he was working as he flipped through the images in the folder on his stick.   
She was tall, brunette, and more beautiful than any other woman in the world. The photos were candid shots, mostly, in a variety of settings, but they didn’t really look like the usual run of surveillance photos. They were images of a happy woman, a woman on vacation, a woman in love. In love with the man behind the camera, her husband, Daniel Shaw, so rarely in the picture because he took the pictures. So few photos of them together, except for the staged pictures, wedding photos mostly.  
The man in them wasn’t the man looking at them now. He looked so different. Shaw couldn’t recall how to smile like that, like the happy, lucky man he’d once been. They’d trained him how to smile in the Seduction School, that was the only way to smile he knew now.  
Now that she was dead. She’d been dead for a long while, but it always seemed like now. Immediate, like a fresh wound.  
“I’m sorry about your wife, Agent Shaw.”  
How did Chuck know? Was that even Chuck who spoke? The voice sounded so different, so calm. Like the Chuck he sat with at lunch, the one who recognized that he’d been shot from the smallest of clues. He could see that Chuck deducing his museum visits and telling the Carmichaels. No doubt he told them everything. What a resource, to see so much from so little.  
“Agent Shaw?”  
He lifted his gaze from the images of his dead wife to the face of another man’s living wife as she walked up to his desk. Sarah Walker, Sarah Carmichael. He stood, out of habit. “Agent Walker. To what do I owe the pleasure? Or do you go by Carmichael now?”  
She sat, as did he. “Either will do. Once upon a time it mattered that I was not known as the wife of Charles Carmichael.” Her face became somber. “It doesn’t, now.”  
“I understand.” He closed the folder of images. Perhaps if Eve hadn’t taken his name so enthusiastically she might still be alive. “Is there something I can do for you?”  
“I would like to consult with you on a matter of some importance. Perhaps a Quiet Room?”  
“Certainly.” Courteously, he indicated the direction, even though they were all in the same spots on every floor.  
Once in the room, Sarah came right to the point. “I would like to know what is going on with the Mask of Alexander exhibit.”  
He expected the request, of course. “Three months ago, in the National Museum of Damascus, a Ring team broke into the museum but didn’t take anything. We believe that they are using items of art, such as the Mask, to smuggle small items through Customs.”  
“Like the coffin ploy on the plane.”  
Shaw nodded. “Exactly. I was supposed to steal the Mask and replace it with a copy in LA, but their security system went off and I had to leave without it.”  
“What happened?”  
“The vault used a vacuum as a fire prevention measure, and the Ring likes to booby-trap their little presents, two good reasons to have an oxygen mask with me. I just had to wait out the alarm and get out the hatch before the guards came in through the front door.”  
“Sounds like a no-brainer.”  
“Pretty much. The museum here had some good security too, not as extreme as the one in LA, but I had no time to prepare for it. If it hadn’t been for your husband I could never have accomplished my mission.”  
“My husband?”  
“Yes, Agent Carmichael was waiting for me on the roof.” He cocked his head to one side. “Didn’t you know?”  
***  
A/N2 Comments welcome as always.


	35. Chapter 35

***   
_“All of my secret identities seem to do a lot of physical labor.”  
“He said what?”  
“I’m sorry about your wife, Agent Shaw.”  
“Didn’t you know?”_  
***  
“The prodigal returns!”  
Given the amount of noise in the range, and the fact that he was wearing ear protectors, John Casey might not have even heard the shout. Given the high-pitched female whoop! in the voice there was no way he could not, which is probably what Carina was counting on.  
Casey always kept himself under tight control, especially with a gun in his hand. Clearly she wasn’t planning to go away any time soon, so the easiest way to get her out of his relaxation time was to acknowledge her and send her on her way. “Carina.”  
She put her bag on the bench and checked inside. “Where you been hiding yourself, Casey?”  
He bristled, and pulled his arms back. Marines do not hide. “I found a range with higher standards, This one’s letting in all sorts of riff-raff lately.”  
She ignored the comment. Not only was she preparing to fire, she was used to ignoring Casey’s idea of humor. Leaving her gun on the bench, she watched as he put all his shots in a cluster in the center of his target. “Nice shooting, Tex.”  
He hit the button to retrieve his target. “What do you want, Carina?”  
She sent her target downrange and picked up her gun. “Isn’t it enough to want to spend time with a friend?”   
He watched her put all her shots in the heart. “We aren’t friends, Carina. You don’t have friends. You have boytoys and marks.”  
“Sarah was my friend.”  
He ejected his magazine, picked up the spare. “So go hang with her. You’re on the same team now.”  
“I can’t. She’s got this husband now, who keeps her out in the boonies.”  
Casey laughed, as much as Casey ever laughed. “No one keeps Sarah Walker anywhere she doesn’t want to be.”  
“I know. It’s depressing. She used to be fun.” And Carina didn’t have a spare.  
“No, she was just tolerant of your idea of fun. Now she’s a real girl and has her own.” He killed another target.  
“It’s all Ch--his fault.”  
He’d expended all his rounds, and started packing up. “Now that’s the first true thing you’ve said today.”   
***   
“Didn’t you know?”  
Did she know that her husband had somehow snuck out of bed without waking her, to go to the roof of a secluded museum and wait for the arrival of another agent? Clearly not. Did she know enough not to let any of that ignorance show on her face? That she did.  
She initiated a call on the room’s shielded system, the only way anyone from outside the room could know what was happening inside. “General Beckman?”  
“I’m here, Agent Carmichael. Where are you?”  
“I’m in a CIA Quiet Room, with Agent Shaw.”  
“What’s the problem?” Because obviously there had to be one.  
“Agent Shaw switched the Mask of Alexander last night, with the aid of Charles Carmichael.”  
They could practically hear the wheels turning. “I see. Where is the Mask now?”  
“It’s in a secure locker downstairs, until I can get it examined,” said Shaw.  
“I’ll contact Colonel Casey and Agent Miller and have them take over the analysis. You two continue your debrief. I want a specific report on Charles Carmichael’s involvement.”  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
“Dismissed.”   
Sarah made sure the call was terminated from her end.  
“I don’t understand,” said Shaw. “What interest does your team have in the Mask?”  
“Agent Shaw, you heard the General. Can you give me a complete summary of your activities last night, and Agent Carmichael’s role in them?”  
“Certainly. I was just going to write it up anyway.”  
“If anyone wants to know what happened last night, Mr. Shaw, tell them to ask the General. Treat this as ‘need to know’, and only she needs to know.”  
Brows rose, his only outward sign of surprise. “Very well. I didn’t meet Agent Carmichael until after I got to the dumbwaiter shaft—”  
***   
“What are you doing here?”  
“Exactly what you think.”  
“You’re trying to steal the Mask too?”  
“Okay, not exactly. I’m here to make sure your attempt is successful this time.”  
“My attempt would have been successful if my backup in Castle had done their jobs properly.”  
“No doubt. Shall we proceed?”  
“You think you can do better than them, with no prep time?”  
“As I understand it a CIA janitor could outthink that crew.”  
***  
“A CIA janitor? He said that?”  
“Exactly those words. Not very subtle, your husband.”  
“I’m sure he’d like you to think so. Continue, please.”  
“He wasn’t much help until after I got into the air duct–”  
***   
“Shaw. Stop here.”  
“Why? It’s a straight run from here to the Colombian Pavilion.”  
“Spray the tube.”  
“Lasers. Do you see them?”  
“Keep your head still please, I need to track their movements.”  
“You need to what?”  
“Tracking the source. Source located. Okay, lasers neutralized. Proceed to the next junction.”  
***  
Shaw shook his head in wonder. “It was like that all the way to the display and back again. He must have been in the system in real-time, finding and defeating every hazard in my way. It was the most incredible display of hacking I’ve ever seen.” Shaw sat back. “But I guess not you, eh?”  
Sarah smiled. “No, not me.” She cleared her throat. “What happened after you got back to the roof?”  
“I looked over to where I’d seen him last, and I was surprised to see he was still there. I congratulated him on the success of my—our—mission, but he said nothing. He didn’t even move.”  
“He wasn’t there, was he?”  
“So I discovered. He’d put up a cloth, left some shoes, a relay, and a pair of transceivers. I have them with me, of course. He could have been anywhere.”  
She shrugged. “Knowing him, he probably left the vicinity the second you made the switch. You wouldn’t have needed him to get out, and his hacks probably self-destructed the second you discovered the relay–”  
He nodded. “Thus restoring the system. I wondered how he’d done that.”  
“You’re not alone. Most of the people who contribute to his miracles wonder how he does them. Is there anything further you have to add?”  
“No.” He shook his head slowly. “Are we done?”  
“I think so. If we have any further questions you’ll be hearing from me.” She stood.  
He didn’t. “I have a question for you, if you don’t mind.”  
She sat.   
***  
Secure lockers are, strangely enough, not locked. The security is all for their contents, designed to prevent the release of any chemical or biological agents, as well as containing the blast of most explosives that would fit in the box. Anyone with the proper security clearance can open it. Carina, for some reason, lacked such clearance. Casey did not.  
The Mask of Alexander was an ugly-looking thing, a sheet of hammered gold, mounted on a post with a base for the plaque and other necessary details. The obvious place to start…was in getting a clear containment unit for the damn thing. Casey couldn’t help but think of the shaving cream that didn’t get sprayed all over Castle.  
Not that they’d thanked him, or anything. Still, he’d kept the ungrateful morons alive long enough to procreate, always something to be proud of.  
“Hey, Casey! I think I see something!”  
Casey looked over quickly, but Carina wasn’t touching the thing, or even scanning it, just giving it a visual once-over through the heavy clear plastic of the bag. “What is it?”  
“Looks like someone drilled a hole. What do you say I take this thing out of the bag and poke a small rod through there to see what it does?”  
Safe-room humor. “What do you say I shoot you now and test the sights on my guns?”  
“You’re in a mood,” she said as he lugged over a proper-sized unit and started fastening it to the table.  
“Somehow, ‘my day off’ and ‘test unknown weapons in a safe-room with Carina’ just don’t go together in my mind.” He opened the door, and Carina placed the display inside. “Now, poke away.”  
“Isn’t that my line?” She could almost hear his face twist in disgust, but she had put her hands into the gloves and was removing the bag, so she wasn’t looking at him. Once she’d passed it out through the airlock, she picked up a small probe and inserted the tip into the hole, pushing gently.  
***   
“I don’t like being pushed, Agent Shaw,” said Sarah. “If the day comes when you need to know anything about Chuck, rest assured I will tell you. Provided you had nothing to do with that day coming, in which case I’d be standing over your bleeding corpse and not saying much of anything. Are we clear?”  
***  
“Cyclosarin, huh?” said Chuck. “I don’t like that at all.”  
“Why not? I mean, wholly aside from the fact that it’s a proscribed WMD that only the Iranians have ever deployed in the field?”  
“Think about it, Dirtnap. A slow-acting poison, in low dosage, ready to explode in a museum of all places? That sounds like a creepy hostage-taking, terrorist-y kind of thing to me. Do we know who was expected to be there when it was supposed to open in LA?”  
“Not really an issue, Graboid, but I guess it’s something those pinheads in Castle might be able to follow up on without getting into trouble. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”  
“I’ll get North Star.”  
***   
“That’s a good thought, team. Agent Bartowski’s in conference with Agent Shaw, and he has a prior contact with the Castle team on this matter, so I’ll let him take point on that end of things. What is our next move?”  
“We set a trap, General. They shouldn’t know we have their little toy. Shaw expects they’ll scope the place out tonight and try to steal it afterward, but he doesn’t know about the gas. The possibility is they may try to use it instead. Either way they’ll be at the opening.”  
“I’ve already told Sarah to attend, she can scope them while they’re at it.”  
“Who’s her backup, in case they have something more in mind?” asked Casey. “Not Chuck.”  
“Obviously not. I was considering asking Agent Shaw to lend us his expertise. I want you and Agent Miller on hand, but getting you positions on the wait staff will be tricky at this late date. You can attend, or monitor from the van.”  
Casey was typically unenthusiastic. “Is it black tie?”  
“In that part of the state, Colonel, a stick-ball game is black tie.”  
He jammed a cigar in his mouth, growling “Van” around it.  
Carina looked disgusted. “You know I’m always up for a party.”  
“Yeah, I know,” said Casey. _That’s why I chose the van._  
***   
“Agent Walker, you look lovely tonight.”  
Sarah inserted her poison-tipped hairpins just so. “Agent Shaw, for this mission you can call me Sarah, and I will call you Daniel. All right?”  
“Sarah, you look lovely tonight,” he replied, in exactly the same tones as before.  
“Thank you, Daniel. You’re looking very dapper yourself.” She allowed him to drape her wrap over her bare shoulders. Despite the General’s words, they were not as formally dressed as they might have been, the museum simply hadn’t had time to make as big an event of this as they would have liked. The crowd would be composed of scholars and other students of Byzantine lore, and the social set. Neither agent claimed to be a scholar.  
He got the door for her too. “Shall we go?”  
‘The van’ in this case was a limousine, with Casey done up as the driver, a disguise that would allow him to wander the grounds while his fellow agents wandered the halls. The ‘beautiful couple’ mounted the steps slowly, exactly as if they were really there to see and be seen. At the top they made a hefty CIA-funded donation to the Museum in lieu of tickets, and took up some of the flutes of champagne that their employer’s generosity afforded them. It wasn’t the best quality, but they weren’t drinking it anyway. Letting Shaw play his part with some other wealthy men, she did her bit, looking over the crowd, and incidentally letting Chuck see them all through the camera in her brooch.  
Behind her, a familiar voice. “Sarah?”  
She turned.  
***  
A/N2 Comments welcome as always.


End file.
